Declarations
by niklovr
Summary: After the devastation at the prison, two groups are formed and in their reunion, discover a deeper connection. Of course, these discoveries don't come easy in a post-apocalyptic world. Expect angst, emotional baggage, sociopaths, romance, and walkers. Definitely a Richonne tale. Possibly Dasha, too.
1. Chapter 1

Declarations

**[**_**The Walking Dead**_** and its characters are not mine. I only derive pleasure from watching the series and writing and reading fan fiction. However, this fan fiction is mine as are the original characters that I've created. Please note the events in this story will play off the events from the latter half of season 4. At this time, I'm not sure if Terminus will happen in this fic. We'll see where the story goes.]**

Part 1: Reunited

Michonne took a bet on the tracks in the muddy trail. The smaller foot print was just the right size for a teen boy like Carl Grimes, and the bigger print dragged in the mud as Rick's would have given the condition he'd been in the last time she saw him. Had it been only a day ago? Like The Before when she'd lost Mike and baby Andre, she lost time. But unlike before, she came back around faster.

After finding the tracks, she felt as though she was being pulled—no, guided. The huge empty can of chocolate pudding spun in the late fall breeze. For a moment, she was reminded of the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. The muddy trail led to an empty can. In this world they got trails instead of rainbows and empty cans instead of dazzling pots of gold, but if this were a sign, she'd take it.

On wooden feet, she trudged toward the closest house. The white two-story frame structure was complete with a white picket fence, serving as yet another reminder of what used to be. With her arm raised back and her hand gripping the katana, Michonne climbed the steps to the porch. She bypassed an overturned chair and crept to a window. As she peered inside and her gaze locked on the pair sitting together on the floor—Carl and Rick—she began to shake. They were eating, laughing, and talking. They were alive. They were whole. Tears blurred her vision. Her greatest fear hadn't been realized. It took everything she had to knock on the door when all she wanted to do was break it down and join them.

Rick's raspy voice held a smile as it carried through the wooden door. She heard him say, "It's for you." During the scrape of wood and other fumbles that she didn't try to decipher, she pulled back from the door and reminded herself to breathe. She had just wiped the wetness from her face when the door flew open and Carl flung himself at her.

"Michonne!"

"Well, hello there," she said, returning his embrace with equal intensity.

Over Carl's mop of dark brown hair, she caught Rick's stare. Unlike the other times, he didn't look away. Their gaze locked and held. He looked like hell. His face was still a wreck from the Governor's brutal beating. The rest of him look worn, but his eyes… Those blue eyes were just as intense as ever and so unwavering that she was rendered damn near breathless. Finally, he smiled.

"Carl, give her some air," he said, his eyes bright. "You're about to squeeze her to death."

She gasped loudly upon Carl's release and they both laughed. He took her hand and led her inside. Father and son secured the front door while Michonne regarded their digs. While she had slept in a car, these two hadn't done so badly for themselves. Nice, plush furniture with minimal dust. Michonne glanced into the next room and noted a dining room and kitchen. Not bad at all.

"You wanna look around or you wanna eat?" Rick asked, a faint grin curving his mouth.

Carl extended a plastic bag. "It's not much, but have some."

Before she could respond, her stomach decided to release the most embarrassing rumble.

"I guess that answers that," Rick said. "Why don't you get her some water, too?"

Carl half jogged to the kitchen. Michonne watched his exit with a faint smile. Even with her stomach growling and a couple cans of Vienna sausages at her fingertips, she wasn't quite ready to indulge in the basic instinct. A part of her had feared the worst. Adjusting to the reality that her nightmare hadn't come true was taking longer than she wanted.

"He's okay," Rick said quietly. "Really."

She turned away from the kitchen to find that he'd moved from his perch on the arm of the sofa. He stood just a foot from her. His hands hung at his sides. This close, she could see the strain he'd been under. Fearing for his life hadn't been in error. The Governor had beaten the shit out of him. But damn if Rick wasn't a fighter.

"You okay?" He cocked his head to the side as he bored his blue-eyed gaze into her.

"I'm…" She shrugged. "I'm good."

Carl returned with a bottle of water and several packets of Crystal Light. He chuckled as he let her choose. "I used to hate this stuff, but it's not so bad now."

She picked wild strawberry. "Thanks."

"So, what's the plan?" Carl asked, shaking a packet into his bottle. "What are we gonna do now?"

"Nothing." Michonne and Rick spoke simultaneously.

Once again, the elder Grimes held her eyes longer than necessary. Then he nodded and moved back to the sofa where he eased down gently onto it. "What she said," he murmured, jutting his chin toward her.

"Nothing?" Carl repeated.

Rick leaned back and closed his eyes. Michonne doubted if he was asleep that fast, so she reckoned this was his way of showing his confidence in her.

The confusion on Carl's face was adorable, but she knew he'd become insistent with questions if left ignored too long. Obviously, Rick was still in recovery. She didn't mind stepping in. Actually, she enjoyed it.

"We're here. We have shelter, sausages, and Crystal Light," she said. "Nothing sounds about right. Well, maybe…"

"Maybe what?" Carl asked.

"Maybe a bath…a nap. A little later, I may think about a food run."

"Come on," Carl said. "I'll show you the bathroom and stuff."

Michonne followed him upstairs, eager to scrape the muck of the last few days from her body and mind and be restored.

$%^&

Sleep beckoned, but Rick managed to open his eyes long enough to watch Michonne trail behind his son and ascend the staircase. How many times had he stared at her in wonderment? In confusion? In anger? In relief? In desire? She was an enigma and a godsend wrapped up in an unbelievably gorgeous package. When he looked through that peephole and saw her standing on the other side, he could have cried tears of joy.

He hadn't allowed himself to think about the others too much. Just getting him and Carl out had been harrowing enough. Then there was the pain that rippled through his body at every turn, which made coherent thought a near impossibility. Still, thoughts of Michonne trickled in. The Governor sonuvabitch had been seconds from killing him until she pierced that bastard with her sword. Michonne had saved him. Again. No doubt it wouldn't be the last time. Just her appearing on the porch—_how in the world did she find them?_—was enough to rejuvenate his recovery. And if he could stop being selfish long enough to consider what her presence did for his son… Carl lit up brighter than a firecracker whenever she was around. She just seemed to have that affect on the Grimes men.

Rick rubbed a hand over his face as he heard the familiar sound of his son's footsteps on the stairs. "Show her everything?"

"She found the girly soaps without my help at all, but we both had to look for more towels," Carl said.

_Girly soaps?_ Rick longed for more details, but he held back on asking. If he started with questions, his mind might wander to images of her stepping naked into a sudsy bath or lathering up in a steaming shower. He could just make out the silhouette of her dark curves and shapely ass—

"Dad."

"Damn," Rick murmured, blinking to push the visual from his mind.

"Dad!"

Rick jumped. "What? Carl, what's wrong?"

"I said I was going on a food run," his son answered. "Michonne needs to rest so I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna find more for the three of us."

"I'll come—"

"Dad."

Rick hated the look on Carl's face mostly because his son was right. He wasn't ready. He'd only be a hindrance instead of an asset. "Fine. It'll be dark soon. No more than two houses."

"But—"

"That's it," Rick said. "We have the sausages, cereal, and a can of beans that we can split. If that's it for tonight, we'll do fine. I want you back before dark."

Carl checked his gun in his holster and emptied the canvas bag onto the floor.

"Carl?" Rick straightened on the sofa. "Understand?"

The boy nodded. "I'll be back before dark."

He looped the bag over his neck and shoulder and headed out the back door.

With Carl gone and Michonne upstairs…_bathing_…Rick soon found himself mildly rejuvenated. No, he wasn't his old, perky self, but his head was too busy with images for him to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. Naked. In the bath. In the shower. Using her girly soaps.

"Shit, am I twelve?" he muttered.

He rose from the sofa and looked out the window. This neighborhood was the stuff of dreams. People used to bust their asses to cover the mortgages for homes like this. But that world was over. Working overtime to cover the mortgage and the extra car note was a thing of the past. They had far more pressing things to worry about now. _A guy goes to work, gets shot, and wakes up to find the world has gone to shit_, Rick mused. Even with that pressing his mind, he was still very much aware of the woman upstairs.

"She's been up there awhile," he said, glancing at the staircase.

Rick moved carefully across the room. The steps left him a little winded, but he made it. If walkers weren't a concern, he would have called out for her, but he didn't dare take the risk. He grasped the railing and headed up. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. His shirt stuck to his chest and he was only midway to the landing. He paused, caught his breath, and kept going.

The wall provided excellent support. After a few deep breaths, he was almost even again. This was his first time upstairs so he wasn't familiar with the layout. He tried several doors before he found the master bedroom. An intoxicating aroma of vanilla and lavender drifted toward him. He followed the scent willingly.

The master bathroom was in the far right corner. The door was slightly ajar. He knocked once and called softly, "Michonne…you okay?"

No response yielded another knock. When she didn't answer that one, he strode inside. The bathroom held a small shower with a glass door. Further down was a Jacuzzi bathtub. Michonne was in the bath. Her dreadlocks flowed against the back of the tub as her head was cocked back. Her left arm rested on the side. Her clothes were piled on the floor and the katana rested on top. He said her name again, but he was steadily moving toward her all the while.

A million tiny white bubbles hid her lithe body from view. She'd folded a few towels and placed them under her head. Her face was so peaceful. Her mouth was slightly parted and her breathing was even. Rick came close to leaving her, but sleeping in a bathtub was never a wise call.

He pushed the katana out of reach and knelt beside the tub. An overwhelming urge to touch her came close to undoing him, but he knew better. She trusted him. He would die before he ever betrayed her again. So instead of surrendering to his desire, he started talking to her.

"Michonne," he said, "I'm trying here. This here ain't easy. But I'm trying. I'm gonna need you to wake up."

He stopped and waited, but she only sighed.

"You fooling with me?" he asked. "Nah, I don't know why I thought that… C'mon, Michonne. You gotta wake up. Carl can't come back and find us like this.

"He was right. You sure found the girly soaps." He leaned in close and inhaled. "Sure smells good on you. Michonne.

"Damn." He realized he was a breath away from her mouth. It would be so easy to… "No, Rick," he murmured to himself. He stood and moved to lean against the sink. From there he spoke louder, "Michonne!"

"What?" She woke suddenly. Her hand grasped for the katana but it wasn't there. Her eyes were wide and round. Her expression was deadly until her gaze locked and focused on him. "Rick?"

"It's me," he said, feeling the heat course through him and flooding his face. "Sorry. You were taking too long, so I… Look, I was worried, so…"

He backed out of the bathroom, grabbed the doorknob and closed it on his way out. As he pressed his forehead against the door, he heard her distinct chuckle and a breathy, "Thanks."

Then he heard water sloshing and his mind returned to the glistening image of her perfect nude body and he high tailed it from the master bedroom as fast as the bulge in his pants would allow.

$%^&

Daryl didn't know what happened to Beth. He told her to run, to leave him, and when he saw the red taillights staring back at him as the car floored away, he supposed that's what she did. She ran. She left him. He placed no fault on her. For all she knew, the walkers had gotten him. He was a goner and she had to go or she would've been next. Those were the things he told himself as he slung his crossbow over his shoulder, grabbed his bag, and started walking.

Days like this he missed Merle's bike. How many miles did he cover on that thing? He shook his head. _Don't, man_, he told himself. Surviving had always been about blocking out the shit that hurt. His father's beatings…Merle leaving him…his mama burning up to a crisp…Merle turning…the end of their home at the prison. _Shit_.

He had to stop that.

Daryl couldn't let himself wonder who made it out alright. Carol was already gone. Hershel was dead. He hoped the Lil Ass Kicker was okay. She just had to be.

Voices carried easy through the open woods. He'd trained himself to be aware. The stench of walkers drifted in from the east. He'd followed the tracks of a deer for half a mile, but then the voices came. There were at least three, possibly four, all men. He decided to let the deer go and hang back.

A person couldn't make it alone anymore, but only a fool would hook up with any old body.

Daryl kept his crossbow ready although he was careful to remain out of their line of vision. Their voices registered well enough that he could decipher tone even though the words weren't clear. They sounded like assholes. Knowing they were out and about was enough for him to keep his distance. He gripped his crossbow and headed away from them.

He walked for miles. The sun was at its highest by the time he reached the railroad tracks. Once there, he stepped between the rails and sat crossed legged on the gravel that had settled there. Hugging his bag and crossbow to his chest, Daryl felt the weight of the past few days settle over him. Before the burden completely took him under he noticed a figure headed toward him. He palmed his hunting knife but otherwise, he didn't move.

Time had lost meaning when the prison fell so Daryl couldn't say how long it took for him to recognize the form as someone slight, possibly a woman. She…or he…carried a weapon of some sort in her right hand. Her movements seemed wary, yet defensive. Something hung low on her left hip. The steps weren't too hurried, but he could tell this one wasn't foolish about the current state of events. He briefly wondered why she'd be alone and then he thought about himself.

"Shit happens."

Eventually she reached him. He cracked a smile in spite of himself. If that didn't beat all…

"Daryl?" Sasha asked, squinting as if her vision was off.

"It's me," he said. "I ain't no ghost or some shit like that."

She dropped to her knees. Then without warning, she was flush against him, her arms holding him tight. He was still for a moment but when she didn't let go, he hugged her to him. He wasn't alone anymore.

$%^&

Sasha smelled dirt, sweat, and unwashed flesh in Daryl's embrace, but she didn't care. After what she'd been through, silly things like personal hygiene ceased to matter. Blinking back tears while trying to figure out how to slide into the next moment, Sasha relaxed her hold of Daryl and leaned back. He looked away for a second or two before he faced her.

"Told ya I was real."

"You're a sight."

"I left my good stuff a few miles back." He gave her a once over. "Good to see ya in one piece. Glad ya made it out."

She nodded. "You too."

She'd set her stick and rifle down when she hugged him. Now, she retrieved them and used both as distractions. "Did you see what happened to…? I don't know about Tyrese."

"Me neither," Daryl said. "I was with Beth."

"Was? What happened?"

Daryl's face became blank. "Walkers came—"

"She's dead?" Sasha cut in.

"No," Daryl said. "She's gone. We got separated."

Sasha nodded again, understanding. "Walkers split us up, too."

"Us?" Daryl asked.

"Bob, Maggie, and me." She drew her fingers along the butt of the rifle. "We got together. Started off looking for the bus…helping Maggie look for Glenn. Maybe find Tyrese along the way… But walkers set in during a fog. Things got mixed up and I lost them."

"Maggie's a good fighter," Daryl said. "Bob ain't no slouch either."

"I know."

He closed his hand over hers. "No, are you hearing me?"

"I heard you." Sasha regarded the larger hand that had stilled hers. She couldn't remember ever being this hands on with Daryl Dixon before. He was as filthy as she, but there was something so appealing about his touch. Then far too quickly, he pulled his hand away and started digging in the gravel.

"Daryl?"

"Huh?"

"You just gonna sit here?" she asked, watching him toss the gravel at bushes. "Sit here on the tracks?"

"You got something better to do?"

Sasha considered his question and realized he had a point. Just as she was about to get comfortable, he stood and extended his hand. She accepted his offer, mostly for the human contact, and wasn't disappointed. Her hand still felt really good pressed against his.

He gave her a quick squeeze before he grabbed his gear. "C'mon."

"Something better to do?"

"Anything's better than losing light on these tracks—"

"Hey!" she said, moving fast to stay in step with his purposeful stride. "You were sitting there when I found you."

"Waiting for ya," he said.

She was about to protest when she noticed the smirk on his face. They'd had an easy relationship at the prison. Both were on the council. They planned runs together. As with most things, Sasha took her role seriously. Tyrese advised that she could loosen up a bit. Relax. Laugh. She noted how the others often engaged in light banter and some even pulled pranks. Daryl wasn't the worst, but he wasn't immune to teasing or being teased. Sasha, on the other hand, seemed to have a sign on her back that said, 'off limits.' It was her fault, she knew, but letting her guard down didn't come easy. Even before everything happened, she'd always been the odd woman out.

Sasha didn't like to dwell on the old days. She'd discover new strengths in this different world. She was a fighter, a survivor. Still, lingering on the outside bothered her. It hurt. When she got separated from Bob and Maggie, she wondered briefly if they had ditched her.

"Cat's got your tongue?" Daryl asked after several miles of silence.

"Nope," she said quietly.

"Got any food in that bag?"

She gave him a look. "You're full of questions."

"Do ya?"

She shrugged. Thinking of food was the worst. She hated that he'd mentioned it. "Some nuts. A few berries. I found some mushrooms, but I wasn't sure about them."

"I'll check them out," he offered.

"What's in your bag?" she asked.

"The last of some jerky. Want it?"

She stopped him as he reached into his bag. "I can't take your last. Keep it."

"Berries an' nuts won't keep ya on your feet." He handed his provisions over. "Eat. I'll get us a squirrel or somethin' for dinner."

"You're good with that crossbow," she said, tugging on her first bite of jerky. It was tough, salty, and stringy, but it was food.

"Yeah," Daryl nodded. "I am."

Their gazes locked. She wasn't sure if he was being cocky or acknowledging a fact. Then his mouth curved into a short grin. Sasha found herself returning the gesture. A mixture of emotions soared through her, but the one she settled on was relief. She wouldn't have to worry about being left again. Daryl wouldn't leave her. She for damn sure wouldn't leave him.

**[A/N: Thanks for reading. Feel free to review. I'd love to hear from you! In Part 2, both groups run into potential trouble. Daryl and Rick make snap decisions to keep their parties safe. The Countdown to October 12****th**** continues… ****]**


	2. Part 2: Claimed

Declarations

Part 2: Claimed

Daryl had never seen a woman tear into squirrel meat the way Sasha had the night before in front of their campfire. She damned right savored it. They'd been talking about what could have happened to everyone and whether or not the bus she found was _their_ bus when the conversation came to a dead stop. He chuckled to himself as he thought of it now. He handed her the branch with the meat still smoking and sizzling, and Sasha's mouth dropped. No words came. He swore he felt her inhale the scent. If he hadn't warned her it was too hot to eat, he knew she would've burned her mouth and tongue right then.

_It would've been a shame, too. Sasha had a pretty mouth. _

Daryl's steps faltered. _Where the hell had that come from?_

"What is it?" she asked, a few steps ahead of him. "Walkers?"

"Nah." He shook his head. "Nothing."

He adjusted the bag on his shoulder and set the crossbow on his back just right. Not that it hadn't been fine a minute ago. He had to do something to get his mind off her tongue and shit.

"What the hell?" he muttered under his breath.

"You okay?" she asked, waiting for him to catch up.

"Fine."

He avoided her eyes. He wasn't sure if his thoughts were showing on his face. Carol used to say he was too closed off, but Merle read him like a book. He sensed that others could, too, at times. He figured thinking about Sasha that way was natural. Sex. That sort of thing. He respected her. She was a fighter. Kinda bossy. Served on Council well. A little distant, but shit, who wasn't?

As Daryl reached her, they fell into step together again. They followed the rail tracks, hoping it would lead them to a town. Someplace to hole up. The nights were getting colder and they could do for some supplies. Maybe they'd run into their crew.

"I didn't say thank you," Sasha said, after a few miles down the track.

Daryl looked at her. He'd been thinking about what they'd do if a town didn't appear soon. Maybe following the tracks had been a bad idea. Maybe the road would have been better.

"I'm talking about the squirrel," she added. "I just wolfed it down. My mama raised me right. I have manners, you know. Thanks, Daryl."

He frowned. "You don't have to thank me for that."

"I want to." She gave him a faint, rare smile. "I want you to know I appreciate it."

"You gonna start slobbering on me again?" He wanted to keep it light, but inside, he was starting to feel warm. The way she was looking at him made him feel special.

She grinned for a half second. "I might."

"Aw, shit."

They both laughed.

Minutes later, another thought came to Daryl. He stopped again and knew Sasha would do the same.

"We just got up and started walking, but what if we could find Maggie and Bob?"

She frowned. "It was a bad fog. I don't know which way I came out of it." She dug into her pocket and pulled out a compass. "It's broken. I should've tossed it, but…"

He looked back the way they'd come. The sun wasn't too high in the sky. Dew still clung to the leaves. Backtracking now wouldn't put them too far behind, but hell; it wasn't like they were on any kind of schedule anyway.

"Whatever you wanna do," she said, pocketing the compass.

Daryl considered the pros and cons. Had he tried to find their trail yesterday when Sasha found him, maybe this would be a bright idea. But he remembered the other voices he'd heard. He didn't want to risk picking up the wrong scent and tracking them straight into an ambush. After a minute or two, he shook his head.

"Nah, we'd better not."

By noon, he was reconsidering the advantages of the road versus the track. Sasha was starting to lag a bit, but he could tell she didn't want him to know. She straightened her shoulders whenever he looked in her direction. He nodded toward the trees.

"Need a break," he said. "What about you?"

"Yeah," she said with a sigh.

They parted at an oak. Daryl answered the call of nature behind a row of bushes while listening out for Sasha. He finished quickly and was relieved to find her already waiting for him by the large tree.

"I'd love to refill this bottle." She showed him that she only had a few swallows left of water.

"Might be a creek back in here."

He took the lead. His gaze scanned the forest floor, looking for telltale signs of small animals and nearby watering holes. Eventually, he found what he was looking for.

"Start gathering twigs," he told her.

Daryl moved a few paces ahead. She took up the rear and to his surprise, her steps were as quiet as his. He spotted a grove of pecan trees and not too far ahead was a small pond. A flicker of movement caught his attention and he grew still. Sasha was so close that he felt her heat on his back. He held out his arm to keep her in place.

He squinted his eyes to zero-in on the bushes that fluttered. It could've been a buck, but Daryl wasn't sure. He motioned for her to stay behind him. Using the forest as cover, he tried to edge closer, but a clearing caught him up short. He waved for Sasha to step back. He followed and they squatted down.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"Ssh."

Daryl waited. If it was a buck, he had it and they were eating good tonight. Still, he had a cagey feeling in his gut. Something told him to be wary. He kept his eyes peeled. Then he saw them. Two men about average build were moving through the trees. Daryl couldn't tell if they were on the hunt, pissing, or fucking. They were just there. He wished he knew if they were the assholes from before or if there were more. If he was alone, it wouldn't matter. He could deal, but he had Sasha. That changed everything.

He motioned for her to go back and hoped she wouldn't say anything. To her credit, she just crawled like he told her to. Once they were in a thicket, he stood and pointed for them to get out.

"Hey!"

_Fuck_.

Daryl considered pretending a bout of deafness. Sasha stiffened behind him, but he knew she'd follow his lead.

"Hey, ya'll!"

_Shit_, Daryl thought. _Walkers loved noise. Didn't these dumbasses know this?_

He turned around and saw that the two men were several yards away. If they had weapons, Daryl couldn't tell from this distance, but he didn't let that sway him.

Before Sasha moved, he caught her wrist. Her eyes widened as they met his. _What?_

"If they ask, you're mine."

$%^&

Michonne had spent a lot of time not thinking about Rick finding her in the bathtub. They were adults. She knew hers wasn't the first nude female body he'd seen, but the few times thoughts had snuck in, she wondered how much of her nude body had he seen. His blue eyes had grown bright and the red underneath his tanned face had reminded her of Christmas lights in the mall. Later, they avoided the topic as they enjoyed Carl's small haul of soup and sardines. Occasionally, their eyes would meet and something fluttered in her lower belly.

_As they settled down together that first night, she smiled at Carl as he prepared the recliner for her. Out of nowhere, Rick shuffled behind her and said against her ear, "He's kinda happy you found us."_

_The sensation started again. She pressed her hand against her abdomen as she nodded. _

_She sensed him pause. Half of her wanted to turn and face him, but she feared what would happen. The truth was she was damn happy to have found them, too. _

_Carl finished tucking the sheet in just so and plumping the pillow. He handed it to her. "Here. Want a blanket?"_

_"The sheet should be enough," she said. _

_She kicked off her boots and set the katana within arm's reach. It had never taken her so long to sit before, but she wasn't quite ready to turn and face them. Well, not them. Rick. She could still feel his heat on her back and his eyes burning into her. There always seemed to be something else on the tip of his tongue, but the words never came. Carl's youthful enthusiasm usually filled the gap and it was doing so again, but still. She couldn't use the numerous tasks at the prison to avoid whatever wasn't said. The prison was gone. And here she was alone with the Grimes men. This time it wasn't a dream or a forbidden moment of what if. It was real._

_"Michonne?" Carl's voice was insistent as if he'd called her several times. "I swear it's clean."_

_"What?" She turned and settled on the recliner. As she did so, the frown on Carl's forehead smoothed. Rick remained silent and his gaze stayed steady. She pushed the recliner back until it was more comfortable. "What're you talking about?"_

_"The sheets," Carl said. "Never mind."_

_"You're not staying on the floor?" she asked him._

_"I don't mind." He glanced at his father and at the door. "We're all together."_

_"There's room on the sofa," Rick said, sliding over. He winced once and held his side. With his other hand, he patted the empty space. "Get up here. Michonne's right. Plenty of room."_

_"Dad__…__"_

_"Now, Carl."_

_She bit back a smile as Carl groaned and obeyed his dad. The sigh of contentment that escaped gave him away and they all laughed. Once again, she found her gaze connecting with Rick's. Flickering candlelight made his expression unreadable, but just knowing that he found the need to connect with her was a powerful tug on her emotions. After bottling the hell of the past few years up and finally unleashing it all, she wasn't quite sure what to do with this pull to Rick. _

_Prior to the awakening in the forest, she would have continued to ignore it on a conscious level, but she didn't want to be that person anymore with her katana swinging while her head was metaphorically buried in the sand. And if she was completely honest, it wasn't just Rick who drew her in. Carl had a hold of her, too. She couldn't let herself be afraid to feel anymore. She had to let her guard down. Learning how would be the tricky part._

_"Michonne?"_

_"Ssh, Carl. She's probably asleep."_

_"No, I'm not," she said. "What's up?"_

_"You were so quiet," Rick murmured. "You okay over there?"_

_"Cozy enough," she said. "Recliners are the best."_

_"Is it a La-Z-Boy?" he asked._

_"A what?" Carl asked._

_She laughed. "It's a brand. No, I don't know. I'll tell you in the morning."_

_She pulled the sheet to her chin and curled on her side. Her chair had been angled to face the sofa. A strong current of peace settled over her as she watched them find comfortable positions. Soon, even breathing signaled that either one or both of them had succumbed to slumber. It struck her that being with them felt right and she was more in harmony with herself than she had been in a very long time._

_"Michonne?"_

_Rick's raspy voice carried softly in the darkness. She quickened at the sound of his Southern drawl. Even battle weary, he spoke with authority and a strange hint of trepidation._

_"Yeah," she said._

_"G'night."_

_"Good night, Rick."_

A pointy elbow nudged Michonne's side and pulled her from her musings. She looked to her right and found Carl's questioning blue eyes peering at her. Heat rushed to her face and she was grateful that her skin tone hid the telltale signs of an embarrassing blush. She met the boy's hard stare with a fake frown.

"What?"

"You got quiet," he said.

"I got what?" She found the observation amusing. No one had ever accused her of being a chatterbox. Still, she and Carl had a certain vibe. She'd told Rick that she was done taking breaks and meant it. Her fog had lifted, but that didn't make her a jabbermouth.

"You kinda went someplace else," Rick said, slowing down to fall into step on her left side. "Thought you were sleep walking."

Considering her thoughts had been on him and that first night back with them, she wasn't ready with a response or an easy quip. Instead, she just shrugged. Although her gaze remained on the train tracks that lay before them, she sensed his gaze linger. Again. She also knew the moment he redirected his attention to the trail. But unlike before, he didn't walk ahead of her and Carl. This time, Rick stayed in step with Michonne and it felt right, being there between father and son.

"Hope we come on a town soon," Carl said.

"Tired?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"There's a water tower up ahead," Rick said. "Probably a town."

"We don't have to stop," Carl said. "We're still going to that place, right?"

"Terminus," Rick said. He glanced at Michonne.

"It was the plan," she replied, responding to his unanswered question.

"Yeah," Rick said quietly.

Picking up on his mood, she asked, "You changed your mind? Think it's like Woodbury?"

Rick frowned, shrugging. "It's hard to know. Can't go in unprepared."

"No—"

"But what if the others are there?" Carl asked. "What if they saw the signs, too?"

"They could be," she answered.

"You think it's stupi—"

"I never said that," Michonne cut in. "Never. They could be there, but your dad is right. We don't know the place or the people. Checking in up here wouldn't be a bad thing. If there's a place to sleep instead of outside…"

"Get our bearings before we go in," Rick said.

Carl nodded, but he didn't say anything else about it. Michonne looked at the boy to gauge him. He had closed himself off. His mouth was drawn and his eyes were distant. Rick touched her shoulder and squeezed.

After leaving the two-story house with the white picket fence in a hurry, their days had been spent walking and their nights had been watchful as they lay out in the open. Rick had confided in Michonne about the men who had discovered their hideout and her clothing. He hadn't gone into details about their plans for her, but from the darkness that filled his eyes, she could guess.

The trek had been hard on all of them. Their home at the prison had softened them. A roof over their heads and a bed to sleep in had made them forget what it had been like in the very beginning. The sudden destruction of everything they held dear was a good reminder as was these long daily walks. Michonne understood Carl's quiet and his need to hope for the others' survival, but like the unspoken message between her and Rick, they didn't want to get his hopes up. If need be, the three of them would make it out there together. They would start over again.

$%^&

Sasha prided herself on being an independent woman and taking care of herself. Then the world went to shit and she found out just how capable she was. Having Daryl make his little declaration struck a nerve. Her first inclination was to act out. Immediately. He must have read something in her eyes because his narrowed into slits as he glared at her.

"Don't," he muttered under his breath.

Before she could respond, the other men had closed the distance and were only a few feet away. Even without Daryl saying anything, she sensed that their speed unnerved him. Tension rolled off him. He stood coiled like a snake with his body set blocking hers from the men's view.

She readied her stick in her hand. It was good for walkers, so maybe the weapon could serve the same purpose on the living. Too bad her rifle was low on ammo. At this point, the firearm was more an accessory than a tool. As the men stepped closer, Daryl took another step in front of her. She peered over his shoulder and saw two dirty white men. One was tall, brunette, and appeared to be in his early thirties. The other was a little shorter with blonde shoulder-length hair. Both carried tire irons.

"Hey," the tall one said.

Daryl nodded once.

"Y'all lost?" asked the blonde with a laugh.

"Shut up," the tall one said. "Do you have a camp nearby?"

Daryl shrugged.

"I get it," the tall one said, "a lot of crazy assholes out here. Ours is a half mile east."

"They don't care—"

"If y'all need a place, we have some room," the tall one said. "I'm Lorenzo. That's Clay."

"Daryl. This is Sasha."

Lorenzo nodded in greeting. Clay stepped forward and looked them both up and down, his gaze lingering on Sasha.

"We gon' be on our way," Daryl said.

Something snapped. Loud grunts and squeals followed. They turned in the direction of the noise. Lorenzo and Clay nodded at each other.

"We got 'em!" Clay said before he disappeared into the foliage.

Lorenzo indicated for them to follow. "We spotted a wild boar a few nights ago and set a trap. We either got it or something else. Y'all welcome to join us."

"How many?" Daryl asked.

"Me, Clay, my sister-in-law, and my nephew are at the camp," he said. "My brother and Clay's cousin are out scavenging. It's a few of us, but we do alright, I guess."

Sasha touched Daryl's shoulder, and he turned to look at her. She got a good vibe from Lorenzo. She wasn't sure about Clay, but these people were offering to share food and shelter. Turning that down didn't seem like a smart idea. She nodded at Daryl.

"Sounds like you have a good bunch," she said.

"We're okay," Lorenzo answered. "At first, it was just me and my family. Then we met up with a few others that included Clay and Nash. Now, it's just the six of us."

"Y'all spare the room?" Daryl asked. He and Sasha followed at a measured pace. His posture still indicated lack of trust and a preparedness to protect if necessary.

"You'll see," Lorenzo said. "Look, I'm no saint, but I'm not a jackass either. If you need a spot, come on. Dawn'll be happy to see Sasha, that's for sure."

"Don?" Daryl frowned.

"Dawn, my sister-in-law. She's been stuck with guys for…well, for awhile," Lorenzo said. "She'd liked the female companionship."

"What about Clay?" Daryl asked. "He better not try nothin'."

"He won't. It's obvious you're together," Lorenzo said. "He's not fool enough to mess with another man's woman."

$%^&

Rick had taken note of the clouds forming overhead. He hoped the storm would move north and bypass them, but given their luck, the clouds only darkened and hung in wait. The water tower was further than he'd guessed. Michonne had entertained Carl with the age-old debate of Batman vs. Superman and to her credit, his son pulled free of his funk. A few times, Rick had caught the smile in her eyes and found himself staring longer than he had a right to. If she found his behavior strange, she didn't let on. It was one of the many things he appreciated about her.

Fat droplets teased them with a sporadic cadence. Carl piped in with the last word, "Kryptonite!" just as Rick spotted an abandoned railcar not too far down the track.

"There!" he pointed.

The word left him seconds before a loud thunderclap shook the ground. The trio raced for the railcar with surprising speed considering their lack of nourishment. Rick had his firearm and knife ready for walkers, lying in wait. Michonne reached the car first.

She called back, "Clear."

The open car was a godsend. They climbed inside and stood in the open doorway. The clouds hadn't made good on its threat, but the afternoon sky was fast turning to night. Rick glanced at Michonne.

"It's not bad," she said.

"Stuffy," Carl complained.

"Could be worse," Rick said.

The railcar was on the small side, but big enough for them. For shelter, it worked. They were dry and wouldn't have to sleep on the ground. Of course, he'd prefer a mattress or even a worn out sofa, but now that the downpour was starting to hit, he couldn't begrudge this box of stainless steel.

They slipped off their packs. Carl flipped on his small flashlight while Michonne searched her bag for the candles they found a day or so ago. Once she produced the round ball of wax, Rick knelt beside her with a lighter. Carl put his flashlight away as the flickering light illuminated the small corner of the car. Rick headed back to the open doorway as Carl removed cans of food from his bag.

Although he hadn't heard her approach, Rick knew that Michonne had followed him. She released a soft sigh as they watched the rain create a wall between them inside the car and the world outside of it. The metal roof pounded with a crazy drum riff. The idea of a heavy metal solo made Rick smile.

"What?" she asked softly.

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"No, c'mon," she said. "Give it up, Grimes."

He pointed. "What does that sound like?"

She frowned as she looked up. "Rain?"

"No, listen."

She shook her head. "I don't hear it."

He took a step toward her. He noticed that her eyes widened, but she didn't move. Anticipation coiled between them. Yearning crept over him. He swallowed hard. In a voice that he barely recognized, he said, "Close your eyes and just…listen."

Her dark eyes stared a few moments longer. It wasn't that she refused to obey, he decided. She was searching and he wasn't quite sure for what. He was on the verge of asking when she murmured, "Okay," and followed his bidding.

Rick had watched her sleep before, but this was different. Her eyes were closed and he knew that she was highly attuned to everything. Yet, without her questioning gaze locked on him, he had the freedom to enjoy her beauty. He wondered if she knew how stunning she was. So often, she used her features to enact a wall, but when she softened… God, she was a vision.

"Is it something specific?"

"Hmm?" he asked.

"The…thing?" She gestured with her hand, pointing toward the railcar's ceiling.

In his unrestrained perusal of her, he had forgotten his initial request. He scratched his temple. What was it? The rain? The roof? What?

"Rick?" she asked.

"You still don't hear it?" he asked. He remembered now. He wanted her to hear the beat.

"Sounds like rain beating the hell out of tin."

"Forget it," he said, humor in his tone.

She opened her eyes. A teasing light danced in the dark brown orbs. A grin played at her full lips. "Sorry."

"No, you're not."

She shook her head. "I'm not."

"Dinner's ready," Carl said.

They shared cans of beans, corn, and SPAM around the flickering candlelight. Laughter and conversation helped them ignore the cold meal and cooler air that the rainfall had produced. Afterward, the empty cans and wire created a makeshift alarm system for walkers. Rick offered no protest when Michonne volunteered for first watch. He wasn't surprised when his son insisted on sharing part of it with her. Happier times filled his dreams until the familiar groans awakened him.

Michonne stood near the opening with her katana in hand. He pulled his knife free of his belt and joined her.

"Can you tell how many?" he whispered.

"No," she said. "The moonlight isn't consistent. Clouds keep moving in and out."

"Maybe they'll keep going."

"That's why I didn't wake you or Carl," she said. "A couple came by first. I can't tell if something spooked this bunch or it's one of those random herds."

"Closing the door will make noise."

"Yep."

Rick sighed. Of course, she would have thought of that. He heard Carl roll over in his sleep. They hadn't had shelter like this since the two-story house. The hard floor of an old boxcar wasn't as good as the sofa at the house, but this was a damn sight better than sleeping out in the open. The nights they had camped outside none of them had gotten rest. He didn't want them to leave until morning, if then.

Minutes flowed like molasses. Either this was a big herd or he was impatient. Yet, he and Michonne remained vigilant and still. Finally, the last three shuffled by. He waited until more time had passed before he tried the door. It moved with effort. He didn't close the door all the way. There was enough room for air to circulate, but for nothing to come in without considerable disturbance. Once done, he told Michonne that he'd take over watch.

The next morning, they got an early start. The water tower was still the goal and Rick wanted to reach it by noon. He abstained from the day's debate of She-Hulk vs. Wonder Woman and simply enjoyed listening to the sounds of their banter. Little mud clung to the tracks. Even as the sun crept higher, a chill lingered in the air.

Rick shrugged off his jacket and extended it to Michonne. "You should put this on."

She took the coat and handed it to Carl. "Put this on."

"I'm good," the boy said. "You're only wearing a shirt."

"I'm fine. You should wear it."

"You've been shivering all morning," Rick said. "Wear it."

"But Carl—"

"He's wearing two shirts," Rick said.

"You're only in the t-shirt," she argued.

"Yeah, the brisk air feels good," he said. "Wear the jacket, Michonne."

She stopped and they did, too. Carl held her bags and katana while slid the jacket on. They waited for her to adjust her weapon and bags around the new attire before they started back on the tracks.

"Just until we get to town. I'll find my own jacket," she said. "You'll get this back."

"I know."

Another hour of walking and the first stretch of abandoned buildings appeared. They left the rail tracks to follow the muddy road into town. Rick half expected tumbleweeds to blow down the street. When he was a kid, he used to daydream about ghost towns. It was hard to believe that this was now his reality.

Some of the stores had been heavily looted, but they managed to salvage more necessary supplies such as toothpaste, toothbrushes, deodorant, and soap. In a bar, they found pretzels, pickled wieners, and water. Carl pointed out a store that had a faded advertisement for clothes on the door. Shadows moved past the window.

"Gotta stock up for winter," Rick said, slipping his knife from his belt.

"Let's do it." Michonne had her katana ready.

"Okay," Carl said with his gun in hand.

Rick took point. A glance into the window revealed that clothes and shoes hadn't been completely looted. Walkers wandered aimlessly until they noticed them at the door. Michonne dropped her bag and indicated that she'd go around back. Carl stayed with Rick and the two went in.

The trio's practiced teamwork enabled them to make quick, clean sweep of the cluster of walkers. Michonne was just slicing the heads of the last two when a side door opened and a couple of humans joined the fray. She almost sliced them but she caught herself in time.

"Hey!" A bald man raised his bat in defense.

Rick and Carl cocked their guns. "Don't," Rick said. "Put it down."

"Aaron, listen to 'em," the other man with short dark hair spoke up. "We're good."

Michonne moved to stand near Rick and Carl. No one put the weapons away.

"For shit's sake, we should be fighting the living dead, not each other. I'm Lee. That's Aaron. I guess he think he's Hank Aaron, but without the permanent tan."

Rick waited for Aaron to lower the bat before he holstered his gun. Michonne grabbed her bag from outside and began looking through the clothing racks. Carl remained at her side. Rick maintained his position closer to the two strangers. He took note of how the men watched them. He knew they were trying to understand their relationship.

"We were looking for winter gear and got ambushed," Aaron said. "Fought 'em off real good until they backed us into the storeroom. Then y'all showed up."

"Good thing, too," Lee added. "Didn't want to be stuck in there all night. Usually with them one becomes two…two becomes five. You know what I mean."

"Yeah," Rick said.

"Y'all took 'em out, no joke," Aaron said. "That sword is serious business."

"Whose she?" Lee asked, his gaze following the shopping pair until he focused on Rick.

"Michonne. I'm Rick. That's Carl."

Aaron shook his head. "Nah, is she yours?"

Rick nodded, his jaw set. "She's mine."

**[A/N: Thanks for the awesome response! The reviews, follows, and favorites are appreciated. I'll warn you now that there may be a few intentional inconsistencies (i.e. the compass) but bear with me and I hope you'll enjoy the journey anyway. If you read my GH fics, you may recognize a few names and yep, they're coming along for the ride. They won't completely inhabit their GH personas. He's not a prince in this one, but he'll still be a fantastic, wonderful guy. lol! This chapter needed to cover a lot so it was longer than usual. I hope that future chapters won't be. And to make sure that I stick to that, future chapters will be written according to couple. Richonne will have a chapter. Dasha will have a chapter. There may be a few times where I'll combine the happenings like in the first two chapters, but starting with Part 3, to keep the page numbers down, the chapters will be group specific. As always, thanks for reading and I truly enjoy hearing from you. Please feel free to comment, review, etc. The October 12****th**** countdown continues…]**


	3. Part 3: Greetings

**[A/N: Thanks again for reading, following, favoriting, reviewing, kudoing, etc! Your responses have been energizing. You rock. The interest in Dasha has been especially motivating. I'm mostly a diehard Richonne shipper with a little Dixonne to keep it interesting, but Dasha is really starting to tug at me. Your enthusiasm has been fantastic! Here's the first of the "couple's only" chapters I warned you about. I hope it works for you, cuz it's working for me even though this was way longer than I expected! Lol Your feedback is always appreciated, so feel free to let me know what you think. I try to respond to reviews, so don't be surprised if you receive a message from me soon. Richonne is in the next one… The countdown to October 12****th**** continues… Have a safe and fun Labor Day weekend!]**

Declarations

Part 3: Greetings

Sasha maintained a ready grip on the stick and wished again for more ammo. The loud squealing and grunting of the boar as it protested its capture put her on edge. Why walkers hadn't pounced was beyond her. She noticed the frown wrinkling Daryl's brow as they followed Lorenzo into the thicket. The veins in Daryl's hand bulged with his tight hold on his crossbow. Whenever she tried to move closer, he shook his head and blocked her. She wasn't sure what happened after the prison went to hell, but she couldn't remember him ever being this protective before. Maybe of baby Judith or of Carl, but not anyone else. Not even Carol.

They reached the trap and found Clay struggling with the wiggling beast. Sasha wouldn't say the boar was huge, but dinner would be good that night. Lorenzo moved in, but the animal's snapping snout made him rear back.

"For fuck's sake," Daryl muttered. He tugged his knife free of his belt and charged the boar. Blood squirted from the animal's slit throat. Daryl wiped the knife clean on his pants and returned it to his belt.

"I was gonna do it," Clay said.

"When?" Daryl asked. "Before or after the walkers come. The squealing's enough to draw 'em."

"But—"

"C'mon on, Clay," Lorenzo said. "He's right. No use whining like a girl. 'Scuse me, Sasha."

She shrugged. "No harm."

Lorenzo untied the rope from around his waist and knelt beside the boar. He and Clay removed the animal from the trap and began trussing the legs. While they worked, Lorenzo spoke to Daryl.

"You ever butcher one of these?"

"Sure," Daryl said. "Ain't nothin' to it."

"Up for helping with this one?" Lorenzo asked.

Daryl glanced at Sasha. She nodded. If he declined food and their offer of shelter, she'd hurt him. Later, she would have a word about his need for ownership. For the time being, she was all for them checking this group out and seeing what they had to offer.

"No problem," Daryl said.

Lorenzo nodded his approval. Clay grunted. Sasha had a feeling he wasn't as excited about their addition as his companion, but she didn't care. The two men lifted the boar and headed out. This time, Daryl slowed his steps to walk beside her. The two remained in their sight, but not close enough to hear their conversation.

"What?" she asked.

"Don't be so eager," Daryl said.

"I'm not being eager," she snapped. "I'm hungry. Aren't you starving?"

"I can get ya somethin' to eat," he countered. "We ain't gotta go with 'em."

"They have shelter. There's safety in numbers."

"We don't know nothin' about 'em. Stay close to me."

"Daryl."

"What?" he asked.

"About this…_I'm yours_ business…what the hell is that?"

He had been glancing at her while they chatted, but now he kept his gaze on the path ahead. Red colored his cheeks and it was a shade darker than the burn left by the sun. He mumbled something and Sasha strained to make out the words. She couldn't so she grabbed his arm.

"Say what?"

"Clay ain't lookin' at ya right," Daryl said.

"I can protect myself," she said.

"Against how many?"

Sasha frowned. She hadn't considered that. Lorenzo mentioned two more men, but what if there were more. Would allowing them to believe that she was Daryl's be enough to keep a group of men off her?

"Huh, Sasha?"

"I didn't say anything," she said quietly.

The men led them to two parked RV's and a pond. The camp had a simple fence of barbed wire and empty cans stretched around the perimeter. A teen boy with dark brown curls sat on the back of a flatbed truck. He was busy with something. Upon their approach, he yelled, "Mama, they're back!"

A young brown-skinned woman with two thick shoulder-length braids stepped from the second RV. "Your dad?"

"No," the boy said, as he slid from the truck. "Uncle and Clay."

He ran to meet the men carrying the boar, but stopped short when he noticed Sasha and Daryl. He moved close to Lorenzo and his rough whisper carried as he asked, "Who's that?"

"Daryl and Sasha, c'mere and meet my nephew," Lorenzo said. "That pretty woman over there is his mama, Dawn. I was telling you about her. Daryl, where's the best place to do this?"

"Close to the lake," Daryl said.

Lorenzo and Clay set the boar down a few feet from the water's edge. By then, Dawn had moved closer. She carried an ax in her right hand. A handgun was nestled snug in the waistband of her khaki pants.

"Lorenzo?" she asked. Her gaze danced between the two small groups.

"That's Daryl and Sasha," he said. "Nik back, yet?"

She frowned. "No."

"They're okay," Lorenzo said. "Daryl's gonna help with the boar. You and Sasha can get acquainted. Maybe help her set up their spot."

Daryl nodded once at Sasha and they parted. He joined the men to butcher the boar. She moved closer to Dawn. Sasha recognized the wariness in Dawn's expression and didn't begrudge the other woman for it. She had every right to be concerned. Sasha would in her place.

"Dominik!" Dawn called.

"I'm going with Uncle," he half-whined.

"No, you're finishing your task. Then you can go with him."

The irritated sigh was the boy's only protest. He walked past Sasha and climbed onto the back of the truck. Dawn extended her hand to Sasha.

"Hi. Welcome to our camp."

"Thanks," Sasha said.

They fell into step together. The small gathering reminded Sasha of the groups that she and Tyrese had met along the way. Eventually, they were all lost. Now she didn't know if her brother was alive or dead. She pushed the thought away. Facing that now was too soon. With strength of will, she forced herself to listen to Dawn's explanation of the camp's setup.

"That one," she said, pointing to the RV closest to the pond, "is Clay and Nash's. My family stays in the other one. The truck is Lorenzo's. Nik, my husband, took our Explorer on a run for supplies. He and Nash should return soon."

Sasha nodded, pretending not to hear the quiver of uncertainty in the other woman's voice at the mention of her husband's return.

"Daryl and I were really just passing through—"

"You have a camp nearby?"

Sasha looked at the ground and shook her head.

"We won't run you off," Dawn said. "Lorenzo wouldn't have let you come if he thought you weren't right. He's good at reading people. I am, too."

"Have y'all been here long?"

"What's long?" Dawn asked, shrugging. "I can't even remember anymore. I suppose it's been a few weeks. We were with a larger group, but a herd came through… We found the RVs along the way. Met up with Clay and Nash around the same time."

"Are they okay?"

"Your man may have to have a word with 'em," Dawn said.

"My ma—Yeah, Daryl is…um…" Sasha paused at the door to Dawn's RV. "Why? With both of them?"

"You see them and think they're not into us, right? We're black women. We wouldn't be what two good ol' boys are looking for even with the world going to shit," Dawn said, "but looks are deceiving. Clay likes to look, but I'm not sure about Nash."

"Why are you staying with them?"

"Safety in numbers. At night, they go their way and we go ours."

"Maybe it would be better if Daryl and I cut out now," Sasha mumbled to herself.

"I didn't say any of that to scare you." Dawn touched Sasha's shoulder. "Your man looks as protective as mine."

"How can you tell?"

"He's been watching us as much as he's been working on that boar," Dawn said with a smile. "Reminds me of Nik. Greedy eyes."

Sasha looked past Dawn to find Daryl's stare locked on her. From this distance, she couldn't get a clear read of his face, but knowing that he cared enough to keep her in his sights set her at ease.

$%^&

Daryl found Lorenzo to be an attentive student, but Clay was easily distracted. It wasn't hard to figure that Clay was beside himself watching the two women. Daryl sensed that Lorenzo wasn't oblivious to the other man's interest so Daryl decided to play cool, too. Still, he was prepared. His crossbow was within reach as was his knife.

He taught them how to skin and gut the boar. The boy appeared at his uncle's side. His bony elbow rested on the older man's shoulder. The affection between the two was apparent. Daryl can't remember ever having a moment like that in his life.

"You finish?" Lorenzo asked.

"Yes, sir," Dominick said. "Report's done. I hope Mama grades this one."

Lorenzo chuckled. "Nik wants you to get it right."

"Yeah…can I help?"

"You good where ya are," Daryl said. "If you got a pit dug, we can roast 'em over it."

Lorenzo nudged his nephew. "Let's get to it. What else?"

"A branch to drive through 'em."

Lorenzo looked at Clay. "Can you get that?"

"Who made you boss man?" Clay griped.

"Man, c'mon." Lorenzo waited for Clay to start his search. "Get started, Dom. I'll be there in a sec."

Daryl busied himself burying the non-edible parts of the boar. He sensed Lorenzo had something on his mind. Now, that the hard work was done, Daryl wondered if the offer of camp would be taken back. Just as he was starting to get riled at the thought, Lorenzo spoke.

"He could be harmless, but we don't ever leave Dawn alone with either of them. Dominick's young, but he's fast with a gun and confident with a blade."

Daryl stood to face Lorenzo. "I ain't gon' try nothin'. If you think that, Sasha and me'll leave now."

"Not you," Lorenzo said. "I'm talking about Clay and Nash. They haven't tried anything, but you know how men can be when there're only one or two women around. Nik would kill them if they touched Dawn. I would, too. I'd be quick. Nik wouldn't."

"Nik's your brother?"

Lorenzo nodded. "Yeah."

Daryl didn't want to think about Merle so he focused on the matter at hand. "Reckon Sasha and me staying is a good idea?"

"I don't see why not," Lorenzo said. "Clay and Nash pretend to be great outdoorsmen, but it's clear they don't know shit. My brother and I grew up in the city. We went camping, but nothing prepared us for this. We're good at fish. Setting the trap today was luck. We figured we'd gut the boar same as the fish. Good thing you came along."

Daryl agreed. He helped them ready the pit. He noticed how Lorenzo was patient with his nephew and the boy hung on his every word. Losing the prison, his family there, and then Beth had made Daryl feel as if the walls were closing in again. Sasha's arrival helped him breathe. Talking with Lorenzo brought thoughts of Rick to mind, and Dominick and Carl were around the same age. He walked to the edge of the lake and dipped his hands in. Everything had happened so fast, but he didn't want to believe that Rick and Carl were dead. He would rather not think about them at all.

"Hey." Sasha knelt beside him. "Dawn's got us set up with digs for tonight."

"Yeah?"

"In her family's SUV when her husband returns. It won't be much, but at least we'll be covered."

"Sounds good," he said. "Those clouds promise hell later. I don't want us in it."

"Me either," she said. "Daryl…you okay?"

He nodded.

"This big enough?" Clay asked, appearing suddenly to wave a branch in front of them.

Daryl rose fast and moved even faster to stand between the man and Sasha. "See if it's longer than the boar."

Clay smiled at Sasha. "We having meat tonight. When's the last time you had meat?"

Sasha closed her hands around Daryl's arm. "Last night. It was delicious."

Clay's smile faltered. His mouth drew into a tight, thin line. He left them to tend to the boar.

Daryl closed his hand over Sasha's. "You better go back to the RV."

"I'm not scared of—"

"Just do it."

Her insinuation made Daryl uneasy. After his musings about her tongue and mouth, he felt like a hypocrite. He killed a squirrel for their dinner. She made it sound as if he'd given her something else. Daryl rubbed his chin. This could get out of control real fast if Sasha caught wind of his daydreaming. She'd think he was no better than Clay and his damn drooling like a fool. Daryl was on the verge of cursing himself when a Ford Explorer rolled in.

Lorenzo and his family crowded the driver's door. The dark haired man who exited pulled Dawn into a hug and then the boy. Lorenzo came after. Clay stopped fumbling with the branch and the boar to greet the other man. Daryl turned away from the homecoming to prep the animal for the pit.

The branch worked through the boar with little difficulty. Daryl saw that Lorenzo and Dominick had done a good job of prepping the pit. He set the boar in place and dusted his hands off on his jeans. He headed toward the group, relieved when Sasha joined him. Lorenzo made introductions.

"This is my brother Nik," Lorenzo said. "That's Nash. Meet Daryl and Sasha."

"Hello." Nik extended his hand to both of them.

Nash stood beside Clay and didn't say anything.

"My son says you prepared the boar. Thanks. We're good with fish, but that's about it."

"Hey, we caught the sumbitch," Clay muttered. "That trap worked."

Nik nodded. "When we all work together, it all works out."

"They're gonna sleep in the SUV tonight," Dawn told Nik. "Did you find everything?"

Nik smiled at her and took her hand. "Let's see."

Daryl and Sasha hung back. Daryl still felt uneasy. Sleeping in the SUV would keep the rain off them, but she would be so close. Maybe he'd take the front seat and she'd get the back. That could work.

"He seems cool like Lorenzo," Sasha said.

"We'll see."

"His wife and kid like him," she said.

Daryl nodded. "Yeah."

She released a loud sigh and shook her head. "Is there no pleasing you?"

"It ain't him I'm worried about."

"Maybe you're worried over nothing," she said. "We'll have food and somewhere to sleep. Can't that be good enough?"

"I don't remember ya bein' this optimistic before."

"Who says I'm being optimistic?" Sasha countered. "Maybe I'm being realistic."

Daryl regarded the scuffmarks on his boots. The grass under his shoes was a pretty shade of green. The smell of roasting meat made his mouth water and his stomach grumble. None of those observations were enough to make him unaware of the fuming woman at his side.

"Sometimes, I don't get you."

"What's to get?" he muttered.

"Nothing, I guess."

"Sasha!" Dawn beckoned.

The rear tailgate of the SUV was open. A few items spilled out, but the haul was nothing like the goods Daryl and his teams used to grab for the prison. He remained quiet as he sauntered behind Sasha's stalking form. Although her rear wasn't nearly as shapely as Michonne's, it was more than a handful. Even angry, she walked with purpose and moved her body with precision. That was one of the reasons he didn't mind going on runs with her. Sasha didn't waste movement. Nor did she waste words. Daryl knew that sooner or later, she'd give him an earful. He hoped when the time arrived, he'd have the right answers for her. Or maybe a good lie.


	4. Part 4: Acknowledgment

Part 4: Acknowledgment

Rick wanted to lose Lee and Aaron, but the two men seemed hellbent on sticking with them. After leaving the clothing store, the group of five headed across the street to the pharmacy. The drug store had been picked over, but Rick recognized that Michonne had a keen eye. He stayed close to her while paying attention to Carl and the other men.

"What gives?" Michonne asked. They were in the ransacked section of feminine hygiene products. She didn't seem impressed with the display and Rick was trying his best to appear disinterested in her selections.

"What do you mean?"

"You haven't guarded me this closely since I first arrived," she said. "Afraid I'm gonna steal something?"

Rick's pulse quickened at her teasing tone, but the concern in her dark eyes made him pause. "Not exactly."

"Hmm?" She stuffed the last boxes of Pamprin and Midol into her bag. She'd already snagged the remaining supply of tampons. When she was done, she gave Rick her full attention. "What exactly?"

"It may not be anything."

"You must think it's something or you wouldn't be all over me," she said.

"I'm not…_all_…over you." He frowned. He looked away to see that the men had separated. Lee was digging through the items on the far wall while Aaron slipped into the back where the stronger medication had been kept. Carl was busy loading his pack with stuff Rick couldn't identify from the distance that separated them.

"What gives, Rick?" Michonne touched his arm.

"We need to cut the cord," he said in a low voice.

She nodded. "They seem taken with you."

"Not me," he said, giving her a pointed look.

"Me?" she mouthed.

"I told 'em you're mine."

Her eyes widened, but the outcry he anticipated didn't come. Instead, her dark brown eyes danced and a faint smile played at the corners of her full lips. Rick was reminded again of numerous fantasies where he didn't wonder how his mouth felt on hers. In those fantasies, he knew the softness of her lips and how her moans vibrated inside him when he held her. Some of his thoughts might have played on his face because Michonne's breath quickened. The air between them charged with the things they hadn't found the courage or the time to say.

A mumbled curse from one of the men startled them. They both looked away to find the culprit. Lee had dropped a bottle of pills onto the floor. He kicked the broken pieces with his shoe.

"Did that settle it?" Michonne asked.

"What? Huh?" Rick asked.

"You claiming me like…stock on an auct—"

"It wasn't like that," he cut in quickly. "They weren't looking at you right and I'll be damned if anyone hurts you. Ain't nobody hurting you or Carl."

"I can take care of myself."

"I know," he said, nodding. "We're all together now. We take care of each other."

"You didn't have to say I was yours."

He met her stare. "No, I didn't have to."

"You could've—"

"It was the best way to make it clear, Michonne." He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. Maybe he shouldn't have told her, but he promised himself a long time ago that he wouldn't hold anything back from her. She had a right to know what he'd said.

"Rick?"

He pulled his hand from his face to meet her steady gaze.

For a moment, she didn't say anything. Rick began to wonder if he'd imagined her saying his name. His time of hallucination had been long behind him. With Michonne, reality was the preference. Everything about her was vivid. She held mysteries, for sure, but he never felt clearer than in her presence. Even now when the memories of being a love-struck boy in junior high were dogging him like hell.

"Thanks."

His mouth twitched, and he couldn't stop the grin that followed. "My pleasure."

She responded with a faint shake of her head, but there was no negativity in the gesture. Rick had a strong feeling that had they been alone a more fulfilling outcome would have been a strong possibility. Still to keep his promise, he needed to keep his wits about him.

He followed her to the next aisle. They grabbed the remainder of the pain relievers and stuffed them into Rick's knapsack. Michonne giggled as she tossed a can of shaving cream at him. A moment later, his reflexes kicked in as he caught a packet of Bic razors. He remembered the razor she'd given him before the prison fell and her comment that his face was losing the war. He wondered if this was a hint and that she preferred clean-shaven men. By the time the thought to read her expression for answers came to mind, she'd turned away and was now headed toward Carl. Rick added the items to his bag while resisting the urge to rub his beard. The thing did itch and if he trimmed it down, he'd do so because of the itching. Not because he was trying to…

_Good grief,_ he thought. Michonne was flirting with him in her coy way and he knew damn well he'd trim his beard and he'd enjoy every second of it.

"Dad, look." Carl held two bags of cough lozenges. "Some of them are stuck together, but they're edible."

"Not bad," Rick said. "We should save them just in case, though. Find anything else good?"

"More toothpaste and deodorant."

"Thank God," Michonne said.

Carl laughed.

Michonne nudged Rick. "Now, may be a good time."

Rick followed her gaze. Lee had joined Aaron in the back. Whatever meds that had been left behind had captured their attention. Rick nodded in agreement. He pressed a finger to his mouth and pointed for Carl and Michonne to precede him out the door. The trio moved as one to exit the store. Once outside, they broke into a run until they reached the end of the block.

They rounded the corner and came upon a couple of walkers. Michonne beheaded them with a swipe of her katana. Without any words passing between them, they jogged to another block, which led to a neighborhood of row houses. Most had broken windows and missing doors. They paused on the back porch of one of the lesser-damaged homes to discuss their options.

"Think we lost 'em?" Carl asked.

"Maybe," Rick said.

"Are we staying low for awhile and waiting them out?" Michonne asked.

Rick frowned. During their impromptu escape, he'd been listening for the sound of the men's pursuit. He wasn't sure that the men hadn't given up the chase. Lee and Aaron had been so determined to stick with them before. Rick didn't trust that the two men would pass the opportunity that a beautiful woman like Michonne presented. He doubted if they truly saw him or Carl as a threat.

Rick regarded Michonne's stance. The katana was ready in her hands. She had no qualms about killing the dead or the living. There were times, though, that the guilt of almost giving her up ate at him. He wouldn't put her in danger ever again. Although he knew she was a fighter, he needed her to understand he would fight for her and beside her, but she'd never have to face a battle alone again. Not while he still drew breath.

"Well?" she asked.

"They could have a group waiting for 'em," Rick said.

"We could stay here tonight and set traps for them if they come at us," Carl suggested.

Michonne nodded.

"Sounds like a plan," Rick said.

$%^&

The row house proved to be a valuable find. The cabinets contained the treasure of two unopened jars of peanut butter, five cans of sardines, a sealed jar of spaghetti sauce, and a tin of fruitcake. After that discovery, Michonne put Carl on treasure hunt duty while she and Rick set about setting booby traps on the front and back entrances. The windows had been nailed shut and then covered with planks of wood. In the end, their traps weren't nearly as elaborate as those of Rick's friend, Morgan, but they would be enough to startle the men and give the Grimes men and Michonne a warning.

They chose the dining room to set up camp. Rick and Carl braced the dining table against the back door. They carried the curio cabinet to the front room and used it to block the front door. After they were done, they joined Michonne on the floor. A couple of lit candles provided enough light for them to enjoy their meal of sardines ala marinara. They decided to save the peanut butter and fruitcake for the road.

"Not…bad," Rick said, pouring a little more sauce into his sardine tin.

"It's gourmet," Michonne said.

"That it is," he agreed.

Michonne warmed from the way Rick smiled at her. Deep down she knew that his verbal claim of ownership should have pissed her off. In another time and different circumstances, her response would have been outright rage instead of amusement and the growing spark of awareness that continued to flare between them. Sure, for a moment, the idea that he claimed her annoyed her. For a second, the urge to strike swept through her, but the intensity in his blue eyes and the conviction in his voice quelled her initial instinct. Rick meant her no harm. Besides, she didn't mind his hovering. Having him close was soothing, kinda like wearing his jacket.

"I'll take first watch," Rick said. He gathered their empty sardine tins and stood.

"I can help, too, Dad."

"I got it. Get some rest."

"It's not fair," Carl said, "if you and Michonne do all the watches. We need to share. I'll go first. You and Michonne can decide who takes next." He took the tins from his father and headed to the back room.

Michonne regarded Rick. He stood where Carl had left him. A dumbfounded expression marked his handsome face. He scratched his beard and looked down at her.

"Well," he said.

"Have a seat."

She sat cross-legged against the wall. Her new jacket was wrapped snug around her. She hadn't unrolled the blankets they'd taken from the store, but she had a mind to. A chill was creeping through the slats of the floorboards. Her jeans weren't thick enough to block the cold, but she didn't dare suggest starting a fire in the fireplace. Although they hadn't heard anything from Lee and Aaron since they left them in the pharmacy, Michonne didn't take for granted that the men had left the vicinity.

Rick returned to the floor. He claimed Carl's spot beside her and sat closer than he needed to. When she didn't move, he scooted another inch toward her. Michonne gazed at the flickering flame of the candle, half-afraid that acknowledging Rick would spook him and send him scooting in the other direction.

"I'll go next," he murmured in his distinctive drawl.

"And then forget to wake me for my turn?" She tilted her head as she questioned him.

He fixed her with a slow, lazy smile. "Would I do that?"

"Yes, I think you would."

He shrugged. His non-verbal answer revealed more than enough.

"You need rest, too," she said.

Rick frowned. "I'm better. Not nearly as sore as I was."

"Yeah," she said, "but you're still healing. You can't heal properly without proper rest."

"Where'd you get that from?" he asked.

She drew her knees to her chest and hugged tight. "Hershel."

A solemn vibe came upon them. Rick nodded. To her surprise, he extended his hand, palm up. More surprises came when she accepted the invitation. He laced his fingers through hers, applying gentle squeezes now and then. Michonne pondered that this was Rick's offer of comfort for their shared grief over a fallen friend.

They sat close for minutes longer than Michonne could count. If Carl noticed as he made periodical rounds past them that his father held her hand, he didn't let on. After awhile Rick became so still and his breathing so even that she believed he was asleep. She lowered her legs and forced her mind to think of nothing. Just as her mind drifted to the state of emptiness, the faint caress of Rick's thumb against her palm reawakened her senses. A tremble that refused to be contained claimed her from head to toe. He shifted again until his arm brushed her shoulder.

Michonne knew that acknowledging his proximity could change everything. Fear had driven her after losing Mike and Andre. She'd believed that becoming a monster was better than allowing anyone in, but finding Andrea made her question that belief. Then Carl tugged at her, Daryl, Herschel, and Rick. If she was honest, she'd admit that pull to Rick was different. He made her feel…_different_. He made her want…_things_.

She turned her head and discovered that he'd been watching her. But the question she normally read in his blue eyes was gone. Michonne saw calm assurance and conviction. He cocked his head a bit as if to ask if she was in agreement. Her response was interrupted by voices from the other side of the wall.

Rick pressed a finger to his mouth. She nodded.

"We're wasting time out here, man."

"I don't think they headed back to the woods," the other man said. "They ran this way."

"They could've doubled back. It's been over an hour."

"Shit, Aaron," Lee said. "Stop being such a little bitch."

"Not liking the dark doesn't make me a bitch," Aaron said. "Just cautious."

"Her ass alone will get Sherri off our case," Lee said.

"Her mouth."

"Man, she'd be good for the best trades," Aaron said. "The tops."

"Maybe she's too good for Sherri."

"Think we should keep her," Lee said. "See what we could get without the middleman."

"After we take a few samples."

"Fuck yeah."

Their voices became muffled as they moved away. Rick's grip on her hand had tightened as the men's conversation progressed. The scuff of Carl's boots on the hardwood floor broke them from their silence. Michonne pulled free of Rick's hand and stood. The hatred on Carl's face left her immobile.

"We have to go after them," he said, his voice cracking with emotion.

Rick rose from the floor. One hand rested on his gun that hung from his gun belt. The other hand clenched at his side. His breathing had become heavy. "Carl—"

"No, Dad," Carl said. "They were talking about Michonne… No. If you won't, I'll do it myself."

He stormed toward the door. Michonne and Rick reached him at the same time. She wrapped her arm around his shoulder and drew him close.

"No, Carl. Not like this. For all we know, they'd take you, too."

"They don't know where we are," Rick said. "We'll let them go."

"But the things they said…"

"Ssh." Michonne squeezed his shoulder. "They'll never catch me."

"Damn right," Carl said. "I'll kill them first."

"Carl!" Rick stared at his son.

"Thank you for wanting to defend my honor," Michonne said, cutting in before an argument erupted between father and son. She understood both, maybe better than they understood each other. "Thank you, Carl, but your dad is right. It's dark out there. We have shelter. If we run into them later, we'll see what happens."

"They'll make a play for you," Carl said.

"Then we'll take them out," Rick said. "Get some rest. My watch now. Michonne, you too."

Carl looked ready to protest, but after a brief Grimes standoff, he trudged to his bedroll and lay down. Once he was settled, Rick took her hand and pulled her into the front room.

A bit of moonlight peeked through the boards that covered the windows. Michonne's eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and she noticed the shadows that darkened his face.

"We'll be fine here tonight," she whispered.

He nodded. "It's not that."

She waited in silence for him to elaborate. Minutes ticked away as he simply stared at her. Then he released her hand to take hold of her face. With surprising gentleness, he caressed the swell of her cheeks with the pad of his thumbs. His light touch made his callouses unnoticeable. She reminded herself to breathe, but the anticipation was unbearable.

"I'm going to kiss you," he said in a gruff whisper.

"I know."

Michonne clutched the opening of his jacket just as he bent forward and claimed her mouth. The initial contact was tentative. His beard tickled her soft skin. The hairs weren't as bristly as she had imagined. She felt his smile and tasted the sweet marinara on his breath. Then he leaned in again, more aggressive than before. His tongue teased her lips until they parted. As the kiss deepened, time and place lost meaning. She had wondered if this moment would ever come. Now that it had, she savored every second. When the kiss ended, she pressed a hand to her mouth and stepped back.

"Michonne?" he whispered.

"I'm okay."

"Sure?" His eyes narrowed.

"Yeah." She turned to go join Carl in the dining room.

"Michonne?" Rick whispered again.

She swung around to face him. "Yeah?"

"I meant that."

She nodded, smiling. "I know. I meant it, too."

**[A/N: As always, thanks for reading, following, favoriting, reviewing, dropping kudos, etc. There's a slight delay for the trio's trip to Terminus and here's the warning that Lee and Aaron just may pop up again. What can we say about Rick Grimes? He's not the playa Shane Walsh was, but maybe he's got a little game. Maybe? Thoughts? Next chapter, Daryl and Sasha and the chapter after that, I hope to switch it up again with all 4. We'll see. Your feedback is always appreciated, so keep it coming!]**


	5. Part 5: Scarred

**[A/N: First and foremost, thanks for the amazing response to Part 4. Thank you doesn't seem adequate, but that's the best I can come up with right now. Welcome to the new readers and always a huge thanks to everyone for reading, following, favoriting, reviewing, and dropping kudos. Grad school and a mega dose of other responsibilities conflict with my fic writing and me being able to respond to individual comments, but please know that I read everything and I appreciate your feedback. Keep it coming. Hearing your thoughts is motivating in the best way. Anyway, here's the Dasha-centric chapter. Part 6 will be a mix of Richonne and Dasha. They're not crossing paths just yet, but know that it should happen eventually. Still not sure how Terminus will play. With only 2 weeks to go until the new season starts maybe inspiration will strike. As always, your feedback will be a treasured gift especially in regards to the later half of the chapter. **** Oh, and this is a long one—sorry!—the next one will probably be, too.]**

Part 5: Scarred

_The friendliness of the group seemed genuine enough_, Daryl thought. Nik Cassidy and his family appeared eager to include Daryl and Sasha. Dinner around the campfire was filled with stories. Not just of survival but of what the Cassidy family valued. Daryl noticed how Nik often nodded toward Sasha when he directed his comments to Daryl. The assumption of their relationship had been easy. She stayed close and didn't seem in any hurry to correct the idea that she wasn't his or vice versa. Once or twice, Daryl caught Nash sizing them up. As if he wasn't convinced of their ruse. Then, Daryl dug deep to overcome his insecurities. He'd touch Sasha's arm or let his hand linger on her thigh. This familiarity with her body was odd, but he promised himself to do whatever to keep her safe. He aimed to keep his word no matter how uncomfortable the actions made him.

After they'd consumed as much of the roasted boar as their stomachs could tolerate, Lorenzo and Dominick took the remains off the spit. Nik gestured for Daryl to follow. Dawn and Sasha disappeared inside the RV. Clay and Nash headed into the woods to relieve themselves.

"Have you decided, yet?" Nik asked, leaning against the back of the Explorer.

"On what?" Daryl shouldered his crossbow. He glanced at the RV door. It was open. The voices of the women filtered out. They sounded pleasant.

"Staying or going," Nik answered. "You seemed unsure."

"Lorenzo told me 'bout Nash and Clay," Daryl said. "I ain't lookin' for trouble."

"Three against two aren't good odds," Nik said. "They won't bother your woman."

Daryl nodded. "She don't like me watchin' her or havin' to be protected from others in the camp."

"Dawn isn't thrilled with it either. The wife calls me a cave man," Nik confided with a faint smile. "The cousins are good on runs. Besides, leaving them doesn't seem right."

"Letting them hurt your wife ain't right either."

Nik's face grew tight. "They're not laying a hand on her."

Daryl nodded. Once again, his gaze was drawn to the RV. The waning sunlight and overhead clouds afforded him little advantage in seeing inside the vehicle. A few shadows, but that was all. Sasha seemed to get along well with Dawn. Like Lorenzo had said, the other woman appeared starved for female companionship. The Cassidy family would have been a good fit at the prison. He swallowed hard as the memories threatened to close in. The prison and everything it had been was gone. He had to let that go.

"They're okay in there," Nik said. "The only entrance is that door. Dawn's probably talking Sasha's ear off about the stuff I brought her."

The man's self-satisfied smirk made Daryl smile. With four of them in the RV, Daryl wondered when and where Nik planned to get his reward from his wife.

"Whatcha get?" Daryl asked.

"Hair stuff," Nik said, looking embarrassed. "And the usual." He pulled a box of condoms from his pocket. The box had seen better days and was torn on the corner. Nik handed the contraceptives to Daryl. "We have a stockpile, but I always grab more whenever I can find them. Let's get your digs set up before that rain comes in."

Daryl nodded to hide the flush he knew colored his face. Of course, condoms were a necessity. How many runs had he gone on with Glenn where that was the other man's only mission? Since the living went to war against the walkers, Daryl hadn't had a need for rubbers and couldn't truly recall the last time he needed them before then. He wasn't a ladies' man. Fucking was one thing, but the afters always made him feel weird and inadequate. The box of Trojans that he'd stuffed into his jacket pocket only reminded him of those feelings.

"Nash and I saw some signs on our way back to camp," Nik was saying as he and Daryl adjusted the rear seats of the SUV to lay flat. "'Those who arrive survive' or some shit like that."

"That sounds familiar," Daryl said.

"The place is called Terminus."

"What the hell kind of name is that?" Daryl asked. "Sounds like a fuckin' disease."

Nik laughed. "Yeah."

Lorenzo and Dominick arrived with the chopped remains of the boar divided into three large portions. They had wrapped the sections in plastic. Dominick handed one portion to Daryl.

"In case you and Sasha get hungry at night," the boy said. "It won't go to waste or attract gross ones."

"We call 'em walkers," Daryl said.

"Walkers?" Dominick asked.

"Walking dead," Daryl explained.

"That's a good one, huh Dad?" Dominick said to Nik.

"Yeah." Nik smiled at his son. "Take ours to your mom. Bring back some bedding. Hurry up. Those clouds are ready to pop."

As Dominick jogged off, Lorenzo asked, "What's up? You convince him to stay? You're the smooth talker in the family."

"I was working on it until you showed up," Nik said.

"What difference does it make if me and Sasha stick around or not?"

"Honestly?" Lorenzo asked.

Daryl frowned.

"Not that we would lie," Nik said with a jab to his brother's shoulder. "Look, it's simple. I haven't seen my wife this…_this_ animated in a while. I didn't know how much she missed having another woman to talk to. Besides, it can't be easy out there with just the two of you."

"I don't like those guys," Daryl said.

By now, the cousins had returned. Clay went inside their RV, but Nash headed toward the Explorer. When he reached them, Lorenzo handed him the remaining leftovers.

"Y'all gabbing like a bunch of women," Nash said. "You tell 'em about that safe haven?"

"What safe haven?" Lorenzo asked.

"The sign said Terminus," Nash said.

"Sounds like a fatal disease," Lorenzo replied.

Nik chuckled. "That's what Daryl said."

"I told Clay about it," Nash confided. "He thinks it could be a good thing. Better than sitting out here waiting for the next herd to come tearing through."

Nik asked, "You taking off?"

"We ain't made a decision, yet," Nash said. "I'd think you'd jump at the chance to protect your family."

"My family's always protected," Nik said with an uncompromising edge.

"Yo, newcomer," Nash said, staring at Daryl. "You and your girl headed that way?"

Daryl's eyes narrowed as he regarded the other man. This was the first time they'd had a direct conversation and Daryl wasn't exactly thrilled with the way the man referred to Sasha. There was something in his tone. It didn't sit well with Daryl.

"Why?" Daryl asked.

"Y'all could ride with us," Nash offered. His mouth curved into a smile, but the sentiment didn't reach his eyes. "Our RV's got plenty of room."

Daryl shook his head. "We're good."

"Suit yourself." Nash turned and walked away.

The two brothers stared at each other, and Daryl found himself studying the Cassidy men. They appeared close in age, but if he had to guess, he'd say that Nik was older, but only by a year or two. Their relationship was friendly. Nothing like what he'd had with Merle. If he were a betting man, he'd wager that Lorenzo's feelings for his sister-in-law weren't one hundred percent brotherly, but the man was too honorable to act on them. Daryl doubted if Nik was aware of it. This family unit was tight even with that small issue.

Dominick returned with sleeping bags, comforters, pillows, and flashlights. His mother and Sasha joined him and helped carry some of the items. Nik and Daryl finished prepping while the others stood back and watched. A few times, Daryl caught Sasha's eye. Every time she grinned at him, he shook his head. The urge to mumble something about women's work hung on the tip of his tongue, but he kept the teasing in check. He and Nik finished as the thunder rolled in the distance.

"I was hoping to get a bath tonight," Dawn said, pouting.

"Me too," Sasha added. "If we hurry, we could do it before the rain comes. We're right by a lake. There's a grove of trees right over there."

"Dawn," Nik said with a frown.

"Instead of saying no…" She smiled at him and looped her finger through his belt loop. "We'll be so fast."

"Ain't no way you and Sasha going over there by yourselves," Daryl said.

"He's right about that," Nik said. "Get your stuff. Hurry up. Daryl and I will stand watch, but you better hurry up or there'll be hell to pay."

"Promises, promises." Dawn kissed his cheek.

Nik laughed. "Hurry up."

"Come on, Sasha. I have soap, towels, and something you can change into. But Mr. Cassidy has spoken. We gotta hurry!"

Daryl watched the two women race back to the RV like a couple of teenagers. He swore he'd never seen this side of Sasha before. This version was carefree. She giggled. Even with her ever-present scowl, she had a pretty face, but now, she looked softer. He remembered how her expression changed right before she hugged him on the tracks. The hardness had melted away and only a soft, beautiful woman remained. It made him wonder what she'd been like before all this shit happened. Tyrese had joked that he couldn't remember a time when his little sister didn't boss him, but Daryl was seeing that there was more to Sasha than tough taskmaster.

She and Dawn returned with their supplies, and like dutiful companions, he and Nik followed with their weapons at the ready. Unlike before, Nik seemed more content to remain quiet. Daryl noticed how the other man's gaze focused on his wife and a faint smile never left his face. Daryl had never been in love like that or been loved like that. Watching the couple, he knew that they were committed. They were different than Glenn and Maggie. Although Dawn and Nik were young, they had an old-timers feel to them.

"I'm getting in," Nik confided as they waited for the women to disrobe behind the bushes and slip into the water. "What did you call them…walkers? They can't swim. Lorenzo's keeping an eye on Clay and Nash. You oughta get in, too."

"I'm good."

Nik gave him a questioning look. "You're passing up a bath with your woman? C'mon. Look at them. They can't have all the fun."

Daryl hated to admit the merit to Nik's argument. The women were neck deep in the water. Suds bubbled around them. Both sported grins wide enough to combat the clouds overhead. While Daryl worked out the pros and cons and enjoyed the beauty of Sasha's smile, Nik had undressed down to his underwear save for a few strategically strapped weapons and was knee-deep in the lake.

"C'mon, Daryl!" Dawn said, waving at him.

Daryl gripped his crossbow. He looked around but the landscape was clear. Free of walkers and free of assholes. Then his gaze drifted back to the people in the water. Nik and Dawn were engaged in a private conversation, and Sasha's focus was solely on Daryl. She simply nodded and beckoned with her hand.

"Come on."

$%^&

Sasha hadn't realized she was holding her breath until Dawn flicked water at her. The other woman, wrapped securely within her husband's embrace, treaded water and frolicked almost as if this was a typical outing with friends. In the short while since Sasha and Daryl had joined the group, Sasha had felt her misgivings give way. Sure, she kept an eye out on the cousins. Daryl was right. The guys had a way of looking at her and Dawn that made Sasha's skin crawl, but otherwise, the Cassidy family seemed like good people.

She ran the bar of soap along her arms again as she watched for Daryl. After the invitation to join them, he ducked into the bushes. Nik had thrown caution to the wind and dropped down to his undies in front of them, but Daryl wasn't one for exhibition. When he stepped out in his boxers and crossbow strapped to his back, Sasha had to remind herself not to stare. She'd done her private share of ogling his well-toned arms. She didn't know any woman at the prison who hadn't sighed at the sight of him in the sleeveless shirts. But to see him shirtless and in only a pair of boxers, too?

"Damn," Sasha murmured.

"You don't look at me like that anymore," Nik said in a loud grumble to Dawn. His wife nudged him and he kissed her.

Daryl hesitated at the water's edge. He stood near a large rock where Nik had tossed his clothes and shoes. "Might be better if I kept watch here."

"Those dead ones aren't coming in," Nik said. "Besides, I'm ready if they get too close." He pointed to his shoulder holster and the knife strapped to his waist with a band.

Daryl nodded. Although he'd removed most of his clothes, his crossbow was on his back and he still held his knife.

Sasha held up her stick. She'd left her rifle, leaning on the rock where Nik's clothes rested. "We'll protect you."

Daryl grunted. "Yeah right."

She laughed. "Come on already. You'll have a shower from the rain before too long."

"Stop ya fussing, woman," he muttered.

Sasha bit back a retort as he took tentative steps into the water. She had to admit that she'd seen Daryl dirty more than she'd ever seen him clean. Still she knew he bathed. They'd been on enough runs for her to know if B.O. was a serious problem, and it never had been. Despite the dirt, Daryl usually smelled fairly descent given the circumstances. To be honest, she'd gotten used to his scent and she kinda liked it. Sorta.

"Here." Dawn pushed her floating basket of shampoo and conditioner toward Sasha. "Use whatever you want. Nikky hooked me up on this last run. Everything is sulfate-free. I was this close to either shaving my head or figuring out how to do locs—"

"No," Nik said as he lathered a few feet away, "and no. No to both. I like your hair the way it is. I'll always find whatever you need. No shaving. No locs."

Dawn rolled her eyes, and Sasha laughed.

"What's so funny?" Daryl said from a short distance. He had waded in to chest high, but he was a short, respectful distance from Sasha.

"You men are hilarious," Dawn said. "Are you as opinionated as that one over there?"

"This one can hear you quite well," Nik said in a singsong voice.

The women laughed. Daryl's eyes narrowed as he asked, "Opinionated about what?"

"Hair," Dawn said.

"What about it?" He ran a hand through his and got his hair wet. This made the ends stick up. He frowned as he smoothed the hair back. "What's wrong with it?"

"Not yours," Sasha said. "Yours is fine."

"Ain't nothing wrong with yours," Daryl said.

"Good grief," Dawn said, "watch out, Sasha. That's how it starts."

Sasha chuckled.

"I don't know what y'all talkin' 'bout."

"They're trash talking their men," Nik said. "That's what they're doing. Actually, that's what mine is doing and she's trying to get you and Sasha in on it. Just cause I like her hair just the way it is."

"That's not it," Dawn said. "Don't simplify it."

At the confused expression on Daryl's face, Sasha said, "Dawn was talking about either shaving her head or get locs…kinda like Michonne."

"Michonne's hair is cool," Daryl said.

"You think so?" Sasha asked, surprised.

Daryl shrugged. "Sure."

"See!" Dawn said, splashing soundly toward her husband. "You're all caveman, but Daryl's a renaissance man."

"Wait," Nik said, "he hasn't said if he'd like for Sasha to shave her head or get locs. They're talking about someone else, so don't get so cute so fast."

"But you always say I'm cute," Dawn said, giggling.

"You are." Nik grabbed her and pulled her to him. "Even when you're being a smart ass. Help me, Daryl. Truth, you'd be cool if Sasha shaved her head or loc'ed her hair?"

Sasha waited for Daryl to figure out a way out of this conversation. She had seen his unease at the adulation of the newcomers to the prison, but this was another level of discomfort. He bit his bottom lip and studied the landscape as various shades of red colored his chest and crept toward his face.

To interrupt the moment, she retrieved the shampoo from the basket. The cap refused to untwist, and then there was Daryl. Their fingers brushed as he took the bottle from her and twisted the cap loose. This close, he kept his gaze locked on hers. Her heart raced from the way he studied her face.

"I like her hair just fine the way it is," Daryl said, "but I reckon she'd be beautiful no matter how she wore it."

"Damn," Dawn murmured.

"I feel the same way about you," Nik said.

"Hush."

The couple swam a few feet away to make up. Sasha looked in their direction without seeing them. Daryl's words had stunned her. With his close proximity, she couldn't discount the honesty in his eyes. He'd meant every word. Just knowing that took her off center. She wanted to say something, but everything that came to mind made her feel exposed. She wasn't quite ready for that.

"You changed your mind about washing your hair?" he asked.

"No…" She looked at the bottle he still held. His compliment had made her forget all about the small task.

"You'd better hurry. That rain's but minutes away," he said.

"You can use some," Sasha said. "I'm sure Dawn wouldn't mind."

He sniffed it. "Smells like coconuts."

"So?"

"I don't know if I wanna smell like no tropical island and shit."

"You're man enough to pull it off," she said.

A half smile tugged at his mouth. "Fine."

He poured a small amount into his palm, gave her the bottle, and rubbed the shampoo in. She admired his ability to work a lather with one hand while still holding the knife with the other.

"Your turn," he said.

Sasha tugged the tie from her hair and dropped it into the basket. Daryl's avid interest made her somewhat self-conscious, but she pretended not to care. With the water to her neck, she held her breath and ducked underneath the surface to fully wet her hair. When she stood again, she lathered the shampoo and massaged it, one-handed, into her scalp.

"You're moaning like you've found heaven," Daryl said.

"Washing my hair with soap doesn't feel half as good as using shampoo," she said. "I don't know why. There's conditioner, too, if you want some."

"You're using that, too?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"You missing some in the back," he said. "Turn around."

Sasha waded around until her back was to him.

"Hold this." He gave her his knife. "Using one hand just slows it down."

A moment later, she felt both his hands in her hair, molding her scalp and kneading her flesh. Layers of wet hair and shampoo lather did little to block the warmth and insistent pressure of his hands on her. She'd had good shampoos before, but this was by far, the best. An unbidden moan passed from her and she didn't have the strength to feel shame.

"You like that?" he murmured against her ear.

"Oh, yeah," she said with a slight nod. "That's good, Daryl. That's real good."

He massaged a bit more, and then said, "Dunk down again."

She followed his request. When she resurfaced, he tapped her shoulder with the bottle of conditioner.

"This goes on the same way?"

"Yeah," she whispered. "Same way."

She closed her eyes and waited. Daryl didn't disappoint. He massaged the conditioner into her hair with the same precision as he'd shampooed her only a moment ago. A comfortable silence settled between them. Only the occasional giggle from Dawn or heavier laugh from Nik interrupted the quiet. Sasha noted that Daryl took longer to apply the conditioner and he was slower and more pronounced with his massage of her scalp. She hated to think that the rain would come or they'd have to leave the lake.

"It ain't doing what the shampoo done," he murmured.

"It won't lather like soap," she said. "It stays thick like lotion."

"What's it for?" he asked.

"You never used conditioner?"

"I mostly wash my hair with soap," he said. "I don't see how it matters."

"It matters for my type of hair," she said. "Conditioner helps keep it soft and makes it easier to comb."

"You got a comb?"

She laughed. "No. Dawn may have one, but my fingers work just as good."

"Like this?"

Sasha's knees trembled as Daryl slid his fingers through her conditioner-drenched hair. There were a few tugs and snarls, but he worked them out gently. She doubted if he missed a strand.

"Feels good," she murmured again. "You're so gentle. My mama used to say I was tender-headed."

"That means you're a crybaby?" he asked with a smile in his voice.

"Something like that," Sasha confided. "I once cut my hair real short just to avoid letting anyone mess with it."

"I bet it looked good on ya."

"Thanks, Daryl."

"Dunk again."

When she came back up, a thunderclap came with the first sprinkles of rain. Daryl turned and started working the lather from his hair. With his back to her, she saw the scars that crossed his back. Questions plagued her, but she didn't dare voice them. A calm, mellow vibe hung between her and Daryl now. She knew that drawing attention to his past pain would erase the good memories they'd created with a shampoo and conditioner. After everything they'd lost, they needed to create good memories. Something to look back on with a smile.

"It's coming," Daryl said to no one in particular. He started to wade toward the big rock where Nik had left his clothes. "Y'all, c'mon!"

Sasha took Dawn's basket and followed Daryl. By now, he'd disappeared into the bushes to dry off and dress. She grabbed her towel from the rocks and moved into bushes that were a few feet away. Nik and Dawn pulled up the rear. As the sprinkles increased to a downpour, Sasha hurried to grab stuff and race Daryl to the Explorer, but her mind was moving on instinct. Memories of the lake had already begun to form and she couldn't stop thinking about them. She knew this brief respite from walkers was one she'd remember for many days to come.


	6. Part 6: Frustration

Part 6: Frustration

Steady, overnight rainfall left puddles everywhere. Daryl found resisting the urge to stomp his boots into a few of the smaller patches of muddy slush too irresistible. From the corner of his eye, he caught Dominick doing the same. The boy laughed when his mom warned he'd have to do his own laundry, but after a few more splashes under his belt, Dominick stopped and ambled toward his father for his afternoon lesson.

The hours alone inside the SUV with Sasha had been a special kind of torture. Daryl didn't know how it was for her, but being that close to her after washing her hair damn near killed him. Damn the girly melodrama, he thought, knowing that if Merle were alive, his brother would accuse Daryl of that and worse. The smell of her shampoo, the soap and just plain Sasha had consumed the Explorer—made him want to explore her. He'd tossed and turned most of the night. She'd muttered some. Of course, his agitation pissed her off, but he didn't know what to do. He couldn't remember the last time he couldn't think a boner away or at the very least handle it himself. And the pouring rain was no help. He suffered the whole night and crawled out at first light. Now, he was tired, still a bit horny, and only a game of puddle splashing worked a little to loosen him.

Lorenzo brought in a stack of twigs and branches and dropped them near the cold, slushy boar pit. Daryl walked over and observed.

"Grounds too wet."

"You think?" Lorenzo asked with laughter in his voice.

"Gotta have a fire, though," Daryl said.

In his early morning huff, he'd gone hunting and returned with a mess of squirrels and a rabbit. Dawn promised to fix her famous stew at which all the Cassidy men laughed. Daryl enjoyed the easy way the family had about them. Sasha's faint smile revealed she felt the same.

The thought of her seemed to work magic as it rekindled his discomfort. He hadn't seen her for hours, but he knew she had been holed up in the RV with Dawn. Breakfast had consisted of leftover boar and tin biscuits from the RV oven. While the men decided whether or not they should move and look for better conditions as another rainfall could lead to a flood, the two women discussed hair. From the bits that Daryl overheard, Dawn was itching to do something fancy with Sasha's hair and Sasha was all for it. He pretended not to notice or care, but he'd had his eye on the RV with mixed emotions.

Her hair concealed by a scarf, Sasha stepped out without a glance in his direction or any attempt to look for him. She carried a bundle stuffed under her left arm and her stick in her right hand. With her determined stride, she marched into the bushes. Daryl was moving to follow when Nash stepped ahead of him.

"Sonuvabitch," he mumbled under his breath.

Clutching his crossbow, Daryl ran after them. "Hey!"

Nash grew still. Daryl didn't see Sasha. The foliage was thick. He supposed she had gone deep into the bushes.

"What?" Nash asked. "Can't a man take a piss?"

"Ya got a RV," Daryl said, crossbow raised. "Do it there."

"I ain't got to do shit nowhere I don't want to," Nash said. "You just got here. You ain't running shit."

Daryl glanced around. He couldn't be sure where Sasha was, but he wanted to make sure Clay wasn't planning an ambush. Nash moved, and Daryl aimed the crossbow.

"Get back," he growled.

"What the fuck's wrong with you, man?" Nash asked.

"Go piss somewhere else," Daryl said. "You ain't pissing here."

"You're a real sumbitch."

Daryl nodded and kept the bow poised for action. Nash waited a second or two before he looked off into the woods and then trudged back toward the camp. After a few steps, he turned and said, "This shit ain't over."

"Better believe it."

Daryl waited until his heart rate returned to normal before he lowered the crossbow. Soon after that, Sasha stepped through the bushes with a roll of toilet paper in one hand while still clutching the stick with the other. She gave him a funny look.

"What're you doing?" she asked.

"I'm about to ask ya the same shit," he barked. "Don't go walkin' off by yourself no more. Ya know better than that! This ain't the prison."

"Don't to talk me like—"

"Dammit, Sasha," he said, stepping close until only inches separated them. "You ain't stupid so don't start actin' like it now! Wise up. Shit!"

"Daryl—"

"Not right now." He shook his head. "I don't wanna hear no sorry ass, stupid excuses. Ya need to take a piss come get me. Don't come out here by yourself. Got it?"

Her eyes narrowed. She looked ready to spew venom and Daryl was ready to spew it back. Just the sight of her fired him up in ways he'd never been lit before. He knew what Nash had on his mind. What if Daryl hadn't seen her walk off or Nash following behind? What if she had been out here on her own? The questions reawakened the moments where he'd been helpless and had no one to defend him. He hadn't liked the feeling and for damn sure didn't want anyone he cared about to experience what he'd gone through. Just looking at her and knowing her ignorance made him burn. With anger, confusion, and sadness.

"Come on," he said, taking her wrist. She resisted at first, but he refused to let go. "I ain't leavin' ya out here."

"You watch how you talk to me," she snapped. "I don't like being manhandled."

Daryl loosened his hold. He drew in a breath and slid his hand around hers. "Better?"

She stared. Her dark brown eyes screamed the anger that her mouth had yet to share. Seconds passed before her breathing evened. Her gaze dropped to where their hands connected. Her fingers flexed against him, but she didn't tug free. Daryl waited and prepared for her wrath. He was surprised by her quiet tones when she finally spoke.

"Was it Clay or Nash?"

"Nash," he spat the name like a curse.

Her full lips thinned into a firm line. She glanced toward the bushes where she'd relieved herself and then followed the trail back to camp. "I didn't hear him."

Another tirade scorched the back of his throat, but he swallowed it down. The troubled look on her face created lines that her girlish conversations with Dawn had erased. If he could wish the serenity back to her face, he would. Instead, he held her hand as they walked back to camp.

$%^&

Michonne had the first restful sleep since they left the two-story house. Despite the threat Lee and Aaron represented, she didn't have the edge from before like when the Governor was still out there. The occasional eye contact and faint smiles from Rick intensified the sensation of peace. The only thing that disrupted that feeling was Carl.

Since leaving the row house, he'd made certain to keep her between him and his father. A scowl darkened his young face and his gaze was ever watchful. Nothing moved without his acknowledgement. Hours of walking hadn't relaxed him. Attempts at conversation fell against a wall of silence. She supposed being damn near schoolgirl giddy over a kiss at the face of potential kidnappers was out of place, but after years of being angry and tense, she wanted to bask in something going right. She needed to.

"There's another sign." She pointed at the map to Terminus nailed to a now useless telephone or power line pole. Whatever service the pole once served was pointless now. Except for posting signs and leaning against when endless walking tired the living.

"They're all over," Rick observed. "The last one was about 2 miles back. If they're legit, they're serious about helping."

"You keep saying 'if.'" Carl kicked a loose pebble across the road. A squirrel paused mid-flight before disappearing up a tree. "Dang it. We could've had that one."

"There'll be more," Rick said quietly. He headed toward the map.

Michonne followed him. Carl pressed against her other side. She rested her arm on his shoulder and she felt his muscles relax.

"Change your mind?" she asked.

Rick shook his head. "Nah, we'd better stay off the tracks and away from that place."

"I think we should go," Carl said. "If those assholes are looking for us, they're probably headed that way."

"Watch your mouth," his father said.

"I-I…but Dad, you heard what they said about Michonne."

Rick touched her hand. He slid his fingers along hers. "I heard."

"We should be hunting them down," Carl said. "It'll be the Governor all over again."

"No, it won't," Michonne told him.

"We need more ammo," the boy continued as if she hadn't spoken. "We don't even know if they have guns—"

"Carl, stop it," Rick cut in. "You're getting worked up."

"Why aren't you?" Carl asked. "We've lost Mom, Judith…ain't losing Michonne, too! I'm not gonna do it!" Carl stormed a few feet away back to the road.

Michonne was torn. Part of her wanted to run after Carl. Hug him. Reassure him with promises that she'd be alright. Another part didn't want to lie. The boy meant too much for her to fill him with words that she longed to honor but might not be able to. Then, there was his father. The tortured look on his face rendered her immobile. As much as she wanted to comfort his son, she ached to pull the father into her arms, too. The kiss answered questions, while creating more.

Acknowledging their growing interest had been long overdue, but neither of them was the impulsive type. At least not regarding relationships. Not after everything. After losing so much, she had to be sure before she dared risk finding out if Rick's lingering stare meant more than idle curiosity or the usual male appreciation for her shapely ass. Admitting they meant the kiss helped, but she didn't want to hurt Carl. She wasn't sure he was ready for this change between her and his father.

"Michonne?" Rick's tone was quiet, intimate, and yet firm.

She met his gaze and realized he must have been staring at her for a while. "Yeah?"

"He's scared—"

"I get that," she cut in.

"Let me finish," Rick said. "He's seen more than I ever wanted him to. The last thing I want him to see next is anything happen to you."

"I'm not afraid of them," she said. "We can track them and take care of it."

Rick cocked his head to the side. He moved in until their personal spaces became one. His blue eyes darted around them, checking on Carl, the landscape, and finally returning to her. "That's what you want to do?"

She looked back at Carl before she answered. The Deputy's hat on the boy's head marked his age although the pistol on his hip told a different story. When he slept, she could almost see the child he used to be. His deepening voice cracked at the oddest moments. They laughed at the same corny jokes. She loved that there was still a boy beneath the layers of all that he'd witnessed and participated in.

"It's not what I want to do," she said.

"Are you scared?" he asked.

She answered honestly and without hesitation. "No."

Rick released a short, humorless laugh. "Of the three of us, you're the only one."

She frowned.

He reached for a loc and gently tugged. "I want to hurt them before they can hurt you. I'm scared of what kind of man that makes me. I don't want that for my son. Carl's right. We've lost…too much. We ain't losing you."

"You're a good father."

"I want to be good to you, too."

Michonne took Rick's hands and held them between hers. "You are."

"What do you want to do?"

"Keep walking," she said. "Find something to eat and a good place to lay low for the night. What about you?"

"Kiss you again," he said with a faint grin. "Kiss you a lot."

She giggled low enough for him to hear. "Rick…"

"You asked." He raised her hands to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. "That'll have to do for now."

"Come on." She patted his beard and headed toward Carl. "Okay now?"

The boy shrugged. "It ain't wrong to protect the people you care about."

"No, you're right," she said, feeling Rick coming to stand beside her. "We protect each other. Don't worry, okay?"

Carl's eyes narrowed as he regarded her. "You're not scared?"

She smiled as she shook her head. "Not even a little bit."

"We'd better get moving," Rick said. "Light'll be gone before we know it."

When they started walking away, Carl moved to Michonne's right and Rick claimed her left. Michonne withheld any commentary about their swift maneuvering and enjoyed the gracefulness of their skills.

$%^&

"You didn't squat in some poison oak, did you?"

Sasha frowned at Dawn's question. "Huh? What did you say?"

"You've been quiet since you came back," Dawn said. "You could've used the toilet here."

Sasha shook her head. "I needed to stretch my legs. Besides, my uncle had an RV. The toilet clogged and was the worst headache. I avoid bathrooms in RVs. It's automatic."

Dawn gestured for Sasha to shift around so that she could start on the left side of Sasha's head. An eclectic mix of Miles Davis, Keb Mo, Johnny Cash, Janet Jackson, and Patsy Cline played from the speakers of an iPod Touch. The music offered small assistance in settling Sasha's nerves. After their blowup, Daryl tried. Well, he was quiet on the walk back to camp and even walked her to the door of the RV. Their hands entwined the entire time had proved a major distraction. As Sasha reclaimed her chair at the table inside the RV, she forced herself to engage with Dawn but her heart hadn't been in the conversation as it had before she left to urinate. In less than five minutes, too much had happened.

"You and Daryl okay?" Dawn asked.

Sasha stiffened. "Um…"

"I'm not trying to be nosy even though it may sound like it," Dawn explained. "It's just… If you want to talk about it, you can. If you don't, that's cool. I mean, I get it. Adjusting to these circumstances isn't easy and then maintaining a relationship… Shit. I love Nik, but there are times I wish I could go to the mall and just chill."

"I've been informed that pissing on my own is no longer allowed," Sasha confided.

"I figured as much." Dawn chuckled. "You should've seen the looks on your faces. Both of you. Hot damn."

"We're cool."

"Good." Dawn worked through the sections of Sasha's hair as she spoke. "My vibe about y'all is that you'll make it. The Alphas can drive you crazy, though."

"Alpha?" Sasha asked.

"Alpha male," Dawn explained. "Nik is definitely Alpha and so is Daryl. I spotted that right off with the way, he picked up on Clay and Nash and has kept his eyes on you. Alpha men are sexy, but I'll admit there are times when I want Nik to dial it down. Then on the other hand, that's who he is and it's kept our family safe."

Sasha smiled as she listened to Dawn's description. Daryl Dixon was not afraid to get into the mix. She had witnessed that side of him too many times to count. In this changed world, the motto seemed to be: Be Alpha or be dead. As much as his over-protectiveness annoyed the hell out of her, she knew it came from a good place. But in the heat of the moment, the good place wasn't recognizable. She only saw red.

Later at the evening meal of rabbit/squirrel stew, which wasn't too bad, Sasha stayed close to Daryl. They didn't speak much to each other. His focus was Clay and Nash, and hers was Daryl and the stew. Around them, the Cassidy family discussed the possibility of leaving. The lake had risen and the heavy humidity promised another rainfall. They didn't expect to stay more than another day. Before a decision could be made, the clouds opened as if on cue.

Everyone scrambled. Sasha and Daryl headed for the Explorer. She crawled into the back with the sleeping bags. He folded into the front seat where he'd spent a restless night the night before. Sasha pulled a flashlight out and flipped the light on, holding it at an angle.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey yourself," he said in his trademark growl. "Save that light. We might need it later."

She turned the flashlight off and rolled onto her stomach. From this position, she could make out his outline. Even without seeing his face, his body language screamed misery. "Come back here. You can stretch out better."

"I'm alright."

"C'mon, Daryl," she said. "There's plenty of room. You can crack the windows and not worry about getting wet. Or wetter."

"Funny."

"Well," she said with a faint laugh. "Pillows."

"What? Pillows?"

"Yeah, pillows and it's drier than up there," she said.

He grumbled and muttered under his breath. Finally, she saw him move toward her. She shifted over to give him room. Once he was there, she realized the space wasn't as roomy as she thought. At least not for an Alpha. The idea of it made her giggle.

"What?" he asked, his voice low and raspy.

"Nothing. I didn't thank you before—"

"Stop," he said. "Don't do that. I said some shit I shouldn't have said and thankin' me just makes it… Just call it square."

"Fine. We're square." She rolled onto her side to give him room and he mirrored her movements. Soon, they were facing each other. The patter of rainfall sounded in time to their breathing. Sasha wished she could see his face. "Daryl?"

"Somebody else here?" he asked, teasing.

"Ha ha," she said.

"What, Sasha?" he said. "I ain't sleep. I'm listening."

"What do you think about that place…Terminus?" she asked. "Think there's really a safe haven?"

"Hard to say, y'know?" He spoke in a near whisper. "I think they were calling over the radio, but I can't say for sure."

"The radio?" Sasha rose onto her elbows. "Are you sure? What radio? When?"

"Back when ya'll got sick and we went on the run. Somethin' came over the radio and then a herd tore through. I had forgotten about it 'til now."

"Well…if they're broadcasting…"

"Still don't mean they're legit," Daryl muttered. "Could be bullshit. Look at what the Governor done. Woodbury looked pretty, but a fox set up the henhouse. I ain't about takin' that kind of chance. Are you?"

"Dawn wants us to go with them if they head out," Sasha said. "They're not sure about Terminus either. But they're right about this place flooding. After this rain, we'll have to leave tomorrow."

"I ain't keen on staying with 'em if Clay and Nash are still hangin' around."

"They weren't saying much at dinner," she said.

"I noticed. Still don't mean they ain't thinkin' about it," Daryl said.

Sasha recognized his point. As she considered their options, she saw a shadow of movement in the corner of her eyes. Then she felt his hand on her hair. For just a brief moment, he ran his fingers through before the back of his hand grazed her cheek as he pulled away.

"Your hair looks good. Dawn did that?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said softly.

"It ain't like Michonne's," Daryl said. "I saw when you came out the RV, but I couldn't tell for sure. What she do?"

"Two-strand twists," Sasha said. "Michonne has dreadlocks. I can undo the twists."

"Yeah?" he said. "It looks pretty on you. The dreadlocks would, too, I guess."

"I would say thanks, but…"

He laughed. "Don't say it." He drummed his fingers on the sleeping bag in time with the rain. "It's gonna get colder now. We go off alone shelter's not guaranteed. If we stick with 'em, maybe. I don't like those cousins."

"Me either, but they may not come."

"Maybe," he said. "Did you call me back here to talk my ear off?"

"No. Goodnight, Daryl."

"Goodnight, Sasha."

The sudden quiet made her intensely aware of his presence. Their pretense of being claimed by the other called for both to be hands on in public. Hand holding, touching and whatever felt strange the day before, but now, Sasha was getting used to Daryl's awkward caresses and found them familiar, comforting. Her thoughts wandered to their argument and their walk back to camp. They held hands when the situation didn't warrant it. She could've pulled away, and he took her hand instead of just releasing her altogether. Dare she make something of it or just let the moment roll away? Tyrese had often accused her of being too analytical. Maybe he was right. But damn. Why did the thought of her brother make her throat constrict?

"You okay?" Daryl asked.

She mumbled what she hoped was an affirmative response.

"Don't sound like it."

"Fine." The word came out strangled. She rolled onto her side away from him although in the dark SUV, she doubted if Daryl could see the tears streaming down her cheeks.

The Explorer rocked with Daryl's movements. Finally, he touched her shoulder. "You ain't got to worry 'bout those rednecks. I got 'em."

"I know."

He pulled away. "Oh…"

"Just go to sleep—"

"Don't be telling me what to do, woman," he snapped, but gently in a mocking tone. "I sleep when I want to."

She laughed in spite of the sadness that had crept in. "Fine. Don't sleep—"

"There ya go again!"

"Daryl…"

"Damn, is somebody else here?" he asked. "Where they at? Who the hell is it? If it's more than me and you, how the hell do they fit?"

She turned onto her back and adjusted her position to see what the limited light would allow. He appeared to be on his back, too, with his right knee bent and his left arm angled behind his head. He turned his head toward her when she moved.

"What?" he asked.

Sasha didn't use words to thank him. Instead, she leaned over to kiss his forehead, lingering longer than necessary. She caught his quick intake of breath and how he stiffened. His reaction didn't surprise her. What did surprise her was her own instinct to kiss him. When she lay back down and listened to their uneven breathing, she knew that sleep wouldn't come easy for either of them but still, at least they were together. There was comfort in that.

$%^&

Rick smelled them before he heard them. Another heavy downpour had left the air free of the usual scent of decay and neglect. Purity lingered in the aftermath and reminded him of better times. When life was easier. When finding an old ransacked shack didn't seem like he'd won the lottery, but since it would provide shelter for his family, he'd take the shack and be glad to have it. The roof leaked and the floorboards wore more rot than wood. Still, Carl and Michonne managed to make do and Rick told him he'd get wood for a small fire for the fireplace. He was no more than a stone's throw away when the men's scent reached him. He dropped the twigs and branches and crept back to the cabin.

Michonne and Carl had laid out their small stash of food in his absence. Carl jumped at Rick's sudden entrance. As father and son stared, Carl's face changed. He cast a worried frown toward the back door.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Folks headed this way," Rick said. "Where's Michonne?"

"Peeing." The boy looked embarrassed at the admission. "She wouldn't let me go with her."

"You're fine," Rick assured his son. "I'll get her. Which way she go?"

"Not far. Just behind those bushes. I watched her duck down."

Rick nodded. "This ain't fortified like we need so get our stuff and be prepared to move. I don't know how it's gonna turn out."

"You think it's those guys?" Carl asked. "Lee and Aaron found us?"

Rick moved quickly to the back door as he answered. "I don't know. Could be friend or foe. We'll get Michonne and we're out."

By the time Rick stepped outside, Carl had packed their things and was right behind him. Their movements failed to disturb the twigs on the ground. The smell of the men was less apparent in the back, but Rick still sensed that others were nearby. He wanted to get Michonne and get moving. Running from a fight had never been his first choice, but protecting his own made him rethink things. He'd keep Carl and Michonne safe no matter what was required.

They reached the cluster of bushes and found them empty. Rick forced himself not to jump to conclusions. There was no sign of struggle and only one set of footprints. The image resembled her boots. He signaled for Carl to follow. They found her picking berries from a bush.

She smiled at them until Rick shook his head and pressed a finger to his mouth. The berries fell from her handkerchief as she lifted her hand to reach for the katana. In the distance, walkers grumbled. The noise could have been a small herd or more. Rick had no way of knowing how close the moving dead were; he was too concerned about the living.

"They found us?" she asked when she and the Grimes men had reached each other.

"Don't know. Someone's here."

"We could say 'Hi,'" she said.

"Not funny," Rick said, unwavering.

They'd slept in the cabin the night before and managed to avoid most of the rain. The plan had been to stay another night if possible. The arrival of the unknown had put a serious kink in their goal for shelter.

"The mud will make our tracks clear," she said.

"Don't know how many or what they have," Rick said.

"We're wasting time," Carl chimed in.

They headed deeper into the forest. Rain still clung to leaves and branches. Their steps made squishing noises on the muddy floor. They moved as quietly as possible, using hand gestures to signal. Rick was certain they were headed back toward the road and maybe another town would be nearby. At this point, holding up anywhere would be a godsend.

"Whoa!"

The trio stopped short at the loud voice.

"Looky what we got here," the man chuckled. "Dammit, if this don't beat all."

Rick moved in front of Michonne and Carl. The man's face wasn't recognizable, but Rick remembered his voice from the two-story frame house. Four other men joined him. Two carried guns, one had a knife, and the other had a big stick.

"Joe, you're damned good tracker," said a skinny man wearing a bandana tied around his head. "You said we had 'em. Here's the pack of smokes."

"Don't ever bet with a gambling man," Joe advised.

"What do you want?" Rick said. Michonne and Carl moved in close, standing with their backs against his. They formed a triangle, preparing to defend themselves if it came to that.

"It ain't about what we want," Joe said, his expression blank yet sinister. "It's about what's fair."

"Fair?" Rick spat the word. He had his weapon drawn. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You took one of our own," Joe said. "We aim to even the score."

**A/N: Thanks for reading, following, favoriting, reviewing, and leaving kudos. With the semester ending soon, I hope to update more frequently. But enough about me! This chapter is back to the original format. Thoughts? Too long or nah? Although Rick and fam have run into The Claimers, Lee and Aaron are still on the loose. Danger lurks everywhere in the ZA. Still debating if throat ripping will be an issue in this fic, so thoughts are appreciated in that regard, too. Tonight's the big night. Midseason finale and someone dies. My money is on more than one will be checking out and I'm hoping that my guess isn't wrong. Anyway, thanks much for your patience!]**


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